The Silent Blade: Hunter
by Isolde1
Summary: The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. [Book 1, KakaIru] COMPLETE
1. Prologue: Tracking

**The Silent Blade **

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)yahoo(dot)com  
**Category:** Angst/Romance  
**Keywords: **Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13, might go up  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 80 (The story diverts after that)  
**Summary:** All that glitters is not gold, all that is steel does not glitter... Kakashi is going to learn that the hard way, as he pries into something he probably shouldn't have. KakaIru  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. "Lying from you" is Linkin Park's. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes:** I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Yummy.

Since we don't have that much information on Konoha Hunter-nins, I did not take heed of it, and designed my own Hunters. You can consider it an AU, if you want, though I will try to keep everything else as much canon as I can.

And now, enjoy your ride!

**Edited version**

* * *

**Prologue: Tracking**

_** To command is to serve, nothing more and nothing less.**_

**-- André Malraux**

§§§

The Hunter, gleaming short swords in his gloved hands, crouching on a branch, was waiting.

Waiting for his prey.

On the edge of his consciousness, he felt the faint presence of the well-concealed ANBU warriors, not far from him. They, too, were waiting, ready to spring at his order. Kakashi-sensei, Kurenai-san, and a rookie he didn't know. It was his first mission -- soon he would taste the coppery tang of blood for the first time. A twinge of bitter pity for the young boy about to lose his innocence crossed his mind, and he shuddered in the cool night air as memories assaulted him.

Suddenly, the growing sense of foreboding he had developed while tracking the fugitive came back with a vengeance. Their prey was near. The hunter sniffed slightly, frowning as he picked up the stench of blood.

So the two others ANBU he had sent to drive the fugitive had completed their mission. Perhaps with a little too much ardor, he guessed dispassionately, but he couldn't really blame them. The ninja they were to slay was a missing-nin of the Mist, who had spied on them for weeks, and eventually killed three Genins to cover his flight when discovered. Three young, innocent children. No wonder the ANBU were enraged.

The Hunter himself did not feel prone to compassion, either.

One of the kids had been blue-eyed. Contemplating him, the Hunter's mind had been overwhelmed by one excruciating thought.

_It could have been Naruto._

Above him, the leaves rustled faintly in the wind, and he started. Perfectly poised for attack, all his senses in alert, the Hunter fought off his distracting thoughts, berating himself for his carelessness.

When the missing-nin came into view, he jumped from his branch before him with feline grace, and tightened his grip on the twin blades. The fugitive shot him an horrified, wide-eyed glance, understanding at that very moment that his life would be soon coming to an end. Blood covered the right half of his face, and one of his ears was missing, the hunter noticed detachedly. The ANBU had obviously toyed with him longer than he would have allowed had he been there. Once again, he was torn from his musings by the whizzing of a kunai past his ear, which he dodged only narrowly. The man was not going to yield without a fight, it seemed.

Not in the mood for foreplay, the Hunter dashed forward, feinting with his right blade, the left one meant to kill. The missing-nin saw through his move, and jumped back swiftly. The technique, while rudimentary, indicated quick reflexes. His opponent was good, the Hunter noted, but he was also terrified, injured, and exhausted. And desperate, added the Konoha warrior wryly, as the fugitive lunged at him with a wild cry.

The Hunter decided to end it quickly. Deliberately, he chose not to dodge the kunai aimed at his left biceps. The weapon plunged into his arm, sending waves of pain through his whole body. Calmly, the young man used the hilt of his right blade to strike his adversary's jaw, effectively stunning him. The man stumbled back and dropped his weapon. His breathing short and ragged, he fell to his knees, his fevered gaze never leaving the Hunter's dark silhouette.

Kurohyou, the Black Panther, crossed his swords on his neck, and beheaded him in one fluid movement. The body fell back with a thud, the grass turning red in the chill moonlight, blood splattering the perfect whiteness of his porcelain mask.

The fight had lasted no more than a few seconds. The five ANBU had not even been given time enough to intervene.

"Kurohyou-sama, are you all right?"

The Hunter would have recognized the voice in his sleep. _Kurenai-san_. _She must have noticed I am wounded._ _Hard not to_, pointed out the more rational part of his brain, _what with a kunai sticking out of your arm._

"Yes," he said tonelessly, "Everything is all right, Kurenai-sensei."

He could feel the ANBU's gazes on him as he sheathed back his twin blades, after cleaning them with a fistful of grass. He would have to polish them later, he thought idly. Now, the hardest part was to begin -- he had to erase the fugitive's very existence, and, no matter how many times he did it, the task never failed to disgust him.

"Go back to the village, and report to Hokage-sama," he ordered, trying to keep the weariness out of his voice. "Tell her I will see her tomorrow."

Kurenai took a tentative step toward him, in silent concern.

"Now," he said shortly.

She hesitated, then, slowly, nodded and disappeared in a puff of smoke. The four elite ninjas followed suit.

When he was certain to be alone, the Hunter drew the kunai out of his arm with a hiss of pain. He considered ripping his own black uniform to bandage the wound, but decided against it. Instead, he kneeled next to the dead ninja and tore a large strip of his garment. The Hunter pushed back his sleeve and carelessly dressed his injury. The cloth felt rough and itchy against his sensitized skin, but it would have to do.

He examined the body for a few seconds, breathing deeply, before he set to work, his shoulders tensing in grim resolution.

A few hours later, thanks to his skills and some chemical products, he had effectively wiped out all traces of the runaway's existence. He got up slowly, his whole body aching. The wound on his arm had stopped bleeding but was still sore.

As he went back to the village, the Hunter, true to his namesake, ran freely under the moon, wishing he could erase the weariness and doubts from his mind just as easily as a murderer from the world of the living.

He passed by the night watch effortlessly, like a silent shadow in the night. His house was situated in the northern part of Konoha -- he liked the Pine district, not too far from the Academy, but still quieter than downtown. He slid noiselessly through the window he had conveniently left open, not bothering to turn the light on as he removed carefully his uniform.

It looked rather like the ANBU one, but small, thoughtful differences showed that it had been designed specifically for the Hunters. All the steel sheets, for example, had been removed - rendering the attire both more discreet and exposed. It was composed of suede boots that came below his knee, close-fitting and flexible pants, a smooth sleeveless shirt which showed off his Hunter tattoo and clung to his lithe frame, a large belt to which hung his shuriken and scrolls pouches, leather armguards designed to hold four kunais within easy reach, padded gloves, and of course, the feline-like porcelain mask. The uniform was completely black, as was only proper for Kurohyou, the Black Panther of Konoha.

_Now I'm beginning to sound like Gai_, thought the Hunter, amused, as he trudged to the bathroom. _How pathetic is that?_

Feeling too tired to shower, he removed the makeshift, bloodied dressing. He disinfected the wound carelessly, wincing as it stung, and bandaged it again. He washed his hand slowly, attentive to remove all the blood. Then, as he reached for a towel, he caught sight of his reflection.

His black hair, slightly disheveled by the fight and the run, framed his drawn face, almost ashen in the cold moonlight. It contrasted starkly with his scar, he noticed distantly, a long-healed gash which crossed his well-defined nose. He fingered it absently, lost in painful memories of another life long gone, as a sudden realization hit him.

"And a happy birthday to me," he murmured.

Today was May the 26th.

Amidst pain, violence and blood, Umino Iruka had just turned twenty-five.

* * *

**Feedback always welcome.**  



	2. TSB1: The Morning After

**The Silent Blade: Hunter  
**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)yahoo(dot)com  
**Category:** Angst/Romance  
**Keywords: **Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary:** The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. (Book 1, KakaIru)** Edited version**  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes:** I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Yummy.

* * *

Glossary

_Kodachi_: Middle-sized blade, between a katana (around 30 inches) and wakizachi (Short sword).  
_Tsume_: Claw.  
_Kiba_: Fang.  
_Kurohyou_: Black panther.  
_Kuma_: Bear.  
_Washi_: Eagle.  
_Inu_: Dog.  
_Byakko_: White Fox.  
_Sandaime_: The Third (Hokage).  
_Godaime_: The Fifth (Hokage).

**Chapter 1: The morning after**

**_A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same._  
**

**-- Elbert Hubbard**

§§§

Iruka's eyes opened automatically as his internal clock went off. Time to work, he thought numbly, as he fumbled to tie his dark hair out of his face. Still mostly asleep, he scrambled out of bed regretfully. Even more so when, midway to the bathroom, he realized that it was Sunday, and he didn't actually have any classes to teach.

He was sorely tempted to go back to sleep, but the disarray of his small flat convinced him otherwise. He winced as he contemplated his discarded gear on the floor, fully exposed to anyone's gaze. He hadn't even bothered to polish his blades, he remembered guiltily. How bothersome! Especially before his first coffee of the day.

The young man made a beeline for the coffee-maker, turned it on, and, with a definite sigh, set out to tidy the room a little, still naked as the day he was born -- except for the bandage on his left arm. He piled the dirty clothes in a bundle near the bathroom, picked up the leather gear and put it back in its place -- a chest of dark wood. He looked around for his swords, before spotting them on the couch.

He had named them Tsume and Kiba -- Claw and Fang -- as an wry reminder of his Hunter status. The design of their black leather sheath was rather plain and austere, merely branded with his personal mark -- the symbol of Konoha, in silver, slightly altered to suggest a stylized panther. With time, the metal had matted, giving the scabbards an oddly worn air.

Iruka drew the weapons out. They, too, were unadorned and simple - two kodachis, with a black and silver hilt, and a sharp, middle-sized blade. He had always favored them over the larger, heavier katana, for they allowed both speed and deadly accuracy, and yet offered a greater reach than the shorter wakizachi. The perfect weapon for a Hunter, whose task consisted mostly on hiding, tracking and killing.

Said hunter eyed the blades critically, checking their edges for notches or scratches. Relieved to find none, he headed for the kitchen. He positioned the swords carefully on the counter, angling them so they would not scrape the wood.

He downed quickly a cup of coffee, and, feeling more alive, made his way to the bathroom. Usually, he would do his morning exercises before eating breakfast or showering, but somehow he could not bring himself to do it that day. He decided, peevishly, that last night had been enough training already. That wound on his arm proved it, and rather painfully, at that.

As the hot shower relaxed his stiff body, he reflected, vaguely amused, that while a few years ago he wouldn't have looked back on such an uneventful mission, he was now aching all over. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that he had fallen asleep sprawled haphazardly on his bed, and thus ended up with a rather sore back. But still. He was growing old.

When his parents had died, Iruka had been twelve. From his childish point of view, twenty-five had been an horribly old age, and adults, boring and moralizing and fussing. He was guilty of the last two, he knew, especially where Naruto was concerned, but one could hardly say his life was dull.

Bloody, dangerous, and very, very complicated, rather.

He wondered what they would think of him. His father had been a good shinobi, though certainly too straightforward and open. As for his mother... that was another story entierely. Born of the Tribe, in the mountains of Earth Country, Dances in the Rain had never truly found her place in the shinobi world, despite her husband's loving efforts. He swallowed, painful memories rising like bile in his throat .

Like his parents, Iruka had never been very good at hiding his emotions and being coldly hypocrite. In a way, it was a good thing the Hunters had to wear a mask, he mused.

But neither of them had been killers.

Iruka knew, intellectually, that the Five Hunters of Konoha were vital to the village's survival. They were the strongest warriors, besting even ANBU in pure fighting skills. Not necessarily the best ninjas -- Iruka himself was not that good at Genjutsu -- but the best fighters, by far. It was only logical, after all. They protected the Hokage, intervened in critical situations, and tracked the missing-nins which could have spread their secrets. They were Konoha's protectors.

Nobody but the Hokage knew their real identity. Each of them was recognizable at his -- or her -- mask and uniform: Kurohyou, the Black Panther; Kuma, the Brown Bear; Washi, the Yellow Eagle; Yamainu, the Red Mountain Dog; and Byakko, the White Fox.

Kurohyou, the leader, was also adviser to the Hokage; Kuma, Washi and Yamainu were permanent bodyguards of Godaime; and Byakko, in plain clothes, gathered information and intelligence in the village for them.

But should Konoha was threatened, be it by an exterior threat or a missing-nin, their role came down to one thing: _slay_. And, not matter how hard he tried, Iruka had never been able to fully come to terms with that. It was absurd, he knew, but he couldn't help it: any life he took broke something in him. Any life he failed to protect was a personal loss.

He turned off the shower, shuddering as the cool air caressed his skin. He toweled himself energetically, trying to dry himself as quickly as was humanly possible. He then removed gingerly the dirty dressings on his arm, and examined the injury. It was almost closed, Iruka noticed with satisfaction, but it was also deep and large -- without stitches, it could still reopen at a moment's notice. The kunai had hit just below the Hunter tattoo - the same symbol than on his scabbards. He wasn't overly fond of it, but he wouldn't have wanted it to be mutilated, either. Well, he would just have to be careful for a few days. He bandaged the wound diligently, eager to drink another cup of coffee.

Maybe he could go and eat ramen with Naruto at Ichiraku. No way the kid would refuse, he thought happily. That prospect cheered him up a little, as did the strong smell of coffee and warm bread that wafted over from his kitchen.

Wait a second. Warm bread? He was certain he had not prepared breakfast. Which could only mean one thing: there was an intruder in the house. Very skilled, since he had not noticed him. Worse even, his swords were sunbathing on the kitchen's counter.

He really was growing old.

Iruka almost dashed to his bedroom to find a more suitable weapon than his toothbrush, but then, the rational part of his brain took over. Whoever had entered his house was fixing breakfast, for heaven's sake. Not setting an ambush.

And he knew only one person skilled enough to get past his defenses -- true, he had not been paying attention, but still -- and yet enough of an early riser to be up at six in the morning. Not to mention cooking for him

_Kurenai-san._

He headed for his room without haste, and donned casual clothes -- a worn, but clean, gray jogging attire. He left out wearing shoes. He had never liked them anyway. He brushed his hair quickly, tying it back in his usual ponytail. He almost reached for his forehead protector, then decided against it.

The Hunter made his way to the kitchen, stomach growling at the delicious scent of homemade breakfast. Kurenai sat at the table, reading the morning newspaper -- pointedly ignoring him.

"Why, hello there, Kurenai-san," he offered good-naturedly.

The red-eyed teacher did not answer. Iruka gave a lopsided grin. She would take no notice of him until he had eaten. She could be such a mother hen sometimes. _Again something we have in common, then._

He sat down in a nearby chair, and began eating with joyous ardor. It had been long since someone had last cooked for him, and he sure as hell was going to enjoy it to the last bit. After three muffins and twice as many cups of coffee, he looked up to find Kurenai's strange eyes fixed on him.

"I take it you like my cooking," she stated, glancing at Iruka's empty plate.

The young man grinned, but did not relax. Kind as Kurenai was, it just wasn't like her to drop by at dawn and make breakfast. Something was bothering her, Iruka sensed it. He got up to wash the dishes, all too aware of the other teacher's gaze on his back. He also glanced the swords on the kitchen counter, noting with satisfaction that they would not need too much polishing after all.

Silence hung heavy between them, and Iruka wondered who would give in first.

She did.

"You were careless."

Iruka glanced at her sharply, frowning, even though he knew exactly what this was all about.

"Yesterday. You were careless," she specified. Her face was drawn, he noticed, almost concerned.

"I was distracted, that's true," he replied smoothly, adding for good measure, "And so were you, Kurenai-san."

She stiffened in annoyance. "The last weeks have been hard on everyone."

Iruka rinsed his hands, dried them calmly, then turned to face his colleague.

"It is not the first time I have been hurt on a mission. Probably not the last, either."

"That mission could have gone awry."

"Six elite ninjas against a single missing-nin?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"That's not the point, and you know it."

"What is it then? I'm all ears," Iruka shot back dryly. He suddenly felt rather weary. Arguing was not his idea of a nice, cozy morning.

Kurenai took a deep breath.

"You were careless. Distracted. Whatever," she said, frowning as he opened his mouth to interrupt. "A distracted leader endangers the lives of his troops."

Iruka paled.

"Don't you think I know that?" he said, brown eyes flashing in anger.

The young woman nibbled on her bottom lip pensively. She had not wanted to vex him.

"Iruka-kun," she sighed, "Forgive me. That was uncalled for. It is just that, as the Kurohyou, we unconsciously tend to rely on you, and any mistake on your part could cost us all dearly."

"I thought you knew better than to use my Hunter name," he said reproachfully.

"You're avoiding my question," Kurenai replied with an apologetic wave. "You haven't been yourself, lately," she added softly. "Not since Sandaime's death."

Iruka looked away and said nothing. He crossed his arms on his chest, a defensive gesture which did not escape Kurenai.

"You are still blaming yourself for his death," she continued, "aren't you?"

The Hunter stiffened.

"How could I not?" he answered quietly after a while. "I underestimated our enemies, an unforgivable mistake for any ninja. Let me finish," he said, holding up a hand as she took a step toward him. "Byakko and Washi were away on a mission, but I thought that the two others would be more than enough, and that I would be more useful with the children. But I was wrong. And many died because of that. Including Sandaime."

"Even you couldn't have got past that barrier, Iruka-kun, and you know it." The young man nodded, resigned. "As for the others ... they were shinobi. They knew the risk."

"But I could have saved many," he said sadly.

"Not everything is about you, Iruka," Kurenai reminded him without resentment. She knew his reaction was not born out of a wounded pride, but of his overwhelming guilt. Iruka was often too selfless for his own good, she reflected, and sometimes, it was necessary to knock some sense into him. She couldn't really blame him, though. He had become Hunter very young, shouldering heavy responsibilities without complaining, accepting to stay a Chuunin so as not to attract attention to him -- and never getting any acknowledgment for his dedication to the village.

Kurenai herself had discovered Kurohyou's identity by sheer chance -- Iruka's mask had broken while on a tandem mission. He should have killed her on the spot, but didn't. It just wasn't like him, she mused. She knew the young man hated killing with a passion, and never did it unless he was forced to. They had grown closer after that, and she had learnt to appreciate the inconspicuous Chuunin teacher as much -- if not more -- than the elusive Hunter.

Iruka smiled softly. "You're right, as usual, Kurenai-san. It's just that, sometimes ..."

" ... it's hard to let go?" she whispered, avoiding his gaze. Then she looked up, ruby eyes filled with tears. She, too, had loved Sandaime. All the village had. Many others had been lost, including a very close friend of them -- Hayate.

Iruka crossed the distance between them in a step, all animosity forgotten as he hugged her, blinking back his own tears. Unexpectedly, Kurenai allowed him to hold her as together they let go the strain and grief of the past weeks.

After a while, though, Kurenai shifted in his arms, obviously embarrassed. Neither of them being very touchy-feely kind of persons, Iruka understood that and released her.

"Your eyes are red," he informed her tongue-in-cheek, trying to alleviate the tension.

She winked at him.

"But for once," she shot back, not missing a beat, "so are yours."

* * *

Feeback welcome.  



	3. TSB2: One Step Closer

**The Silent Blade: Hunter  
**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)yahoo(dot)com  
**Category:** Action/Adventure/Romance  
**Keywords: **Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary:** The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. Book 1, KakaIru **Edited version**  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes:** I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Yummy.

* * *

Glossary

_Tentan No Jutsu_: Jutsu of Disinterest.  
_Ken Yuuki No Jutsu_: Jutsu of Sword Evocation.  
_Dairi_: Palace.

§§§

**Chapter 2: One Step Closer**

**_The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity._**

-- Dorothy Parker 

§§§

After Kurenai had left, Iruka stared at his seventh cup of coffee morosely, trying to digest both his enormous breakfast and his friend's disturbing, if veracious, remarks. Hard as it was to admit, she was right: he had been careless. The last weeks had taken their toll on both his health and his sanity -- leading a double life had never been easy, and especially not when there was so much for him to do, as a teacher as well as a Hunter.

However, that mission had affected him more than he cared to admit. He couldn't shake off the horrid image of the mutilated, blue-eyed Genin from his mind. He didn't know what he would do if something happened to Naruto. To be completely truthful, he didn't want to think about it.

Iruka got up slowly, downed the coffee in one gulp, and dropped the mug carelessly into the sink. Picking up his swords, he also grabbed a dishcloth and a small bottle of oil from the chest, and made his way to the couch. There, he began polish them with an ease born of years of habit. The ritual task, as usual, soothed him, chasing off all thoughts other than the rhythmic motion of his hands.

The Hunter looked in satisfaction at his work. The blades were once again gleaming. His hands, too, were clean. It was in his soul than the blood never really washed off.

He blinked.

_Oh, no, you don't_, he berated himself sternly. _No brooding on a day off_.

With a wry smile, the young man sheathed the weapons back in their scabbards. He still had to make his report, he remembered with a long-suffering sigh. Tsunade-sama would be waiting for him. _Well, she is going to wait a little more_. In the privacy of his mind, Iruka couldn't bring himself to call her Hokage-sama. Only Sandaime deserved that title, as far as he was concerned, and right now he was lying in a cold grave.

He would miss him -- already did -- both as a leader, and as a friend. It had not been an easy decision for sixteenth-year-old Iruka to become Hunter, and the Hokage's support had been invaluable to him. True enough, he had been flattered -- who wouldn't be? But he had also been scared. He still was, in a way. Scared to lose himself into Kurohyou, to see Iruka forgotten... to become a mindless killer, just like the ninjas he was ordered to slay.

Iruka found it increasingly difficult to look at himself in a mirror.

The young man grimaced. There he was, moping and wallowing in self-pity, when there was so much to be done. He shook his head decidedly, and began mapping out his day. First, his report. He suddenly remembered that he would have to wear his uniform, which was rather dirty from yesterday's fight. _Ewww. The things I do for Konoha... _Then, lunch with Naruto, if he could find him.

He quickly donned the clothes and put on his boots. He considered the swords, still laying on the couch, and hesitated, wondering if he would really need them. Then again, better safe than sorry, as the saying went. Making up his mind, he seized the scabbards and fastened them at their customary place. Tsume hung to his belt on his left hip, secured above the knee by a leather strap, while Kiba sagely rested across his back in its harness -- making them both easier to draw out and less of a hinder during a fight.

Last but not least, he slipped on his porcelain mask, feeling the weight of his responsibilities settle back on his shoulders as he did so.

"Tentan No Jutsu," he breathed, his hands moving faster than the human eye could follow in a quick succession of seals. This move was taught to Hunters and ANBU only. While not technically making the user invisible, the jutsu worked as a sort of "notice-me-not" spell, relying solely on the mind of the people around him. It was its main strength, for it did not waste too much chakra, but also its chief weakness -- trained eyes would see him, unless he used other means of concealment.

Outside, he surveyed the bustling city for a while, wishing he could feel the warm morning sun on his face. Then, in a puff of smoke, he vanished and sped off toward Konoha No Dairi, the Hokage's palace. Built above the former Hokages' carvings, the massive edifice of white stone towered above the village, a striking symbol of the leader protectively watching over the citizens.

Iruka landed noiselessly on the edge of the sparkling, golden-tiled roof. He leaped, and, with an elegant twist, slipped through one of the windows. Once inside, he removed the concealing jutsu. He walked down the wooden hallways, noting appreciatively that they were empty, which was not surprising, given the early hour -- eight o'clock had not even struck yet. Not that it bothered him. He liked his peace and quiet -- he blamed it on being an Academy teacher with particularly noisy classes.

"Buuuut, Kakashi-senseiiiii ...!" yelled a nearby voice. "It was Sasuke's fault!"

_Wishful thinking, Iruka._ His annoyance quickly dissipated, however, as he recognized Naruto's unmistakable whiny timbre. He wondered idly what the boy could have done to be sent to the Hokage at this hour.

As the infamous trio and their accordingly weird teacher came into view, Iruka smiled under his mask. Maybe he could play a little. The three Genins's eyes widened comically when they spotted him. Naruto stopped dead in his rant, Sakura's hand froze mid-punch, and even Sasuke bumped into them. Kakashi barely looked up from his reading.

"Ah, good morning, Kurohyou-sama," he offered, blue eye twinkling. Sakura and Naruto glared at him, irked by his nonchalance. Sasuke, being essentially himself, seemed merely bored.

Iruka nodded in acknowledgment, but stayed silent. He stopped before Naruto, tilted his head as if considering him, then, bowing slightly, said:

"Naruto-san."

As the Hunter turned away, he glimpsed the boy blushing in delight, and beamed even though there was no one to see it. He wondered why he had not done that sooner. Naruto deserved all the encouragement he could get, after all.

He did not notice Kakashi one-eyed, quizzical gaze on his back, following him until he disappeared behind the large oak doors of the Hokage's office.

§§§

Iruka had not been into the Hokage's office since Sandaime's death. Somehow, he had always managed to meet Godaime elsewhere -- on a roof, on the carvings, even at the memorial stone. Anywhere but the Hokage's office. He knew he would have to face reality of his friend's passing one day or another, and all things considered, today was as good as any.

He did not knock, both because he never did, and because he had not bothered to screen his chakra -- which, given his power, plainly amounted to waving a flag "Kurohyou is there!" for any somewhat skilled ninja to see. And Tsunade-sama was not exactly your average shinobi. In more ways than one, he mused wryly.

Unsurprisingly, he felt the presence of Kuma and Yamainu in an adjoining room. The two Hunters were keeping a close guard on Godaime at all time, permanently on the lookout for an attack on her person -- Iruka in all honesty did not envy them. He would rather track a wild beast anytime than watch over one, as far as he was concerned.

The Fifth Hokage sat on her mahogany desk, legs crossed suggestively, her long, ash blonde hair framing her fine-featured face, currently set in a pout. She was a beautiful woman, Iruka admitted, but he couldn't bring himself to appreciate her. He didn't know exactly why.

She looked up as he entered the room, and graced him with a predatory smile. It did not quite reach her amber eyes.

"You don't like me much, do you, Iruka?"

Oh, yes. That was why.

The Hunter sighed wearily, and would have pinched the bridge of his nose if he had been able to reach it. _Damn mask._

"Is everybody in this village determined to disclose my secret? Because, if you are, go ahead. It sure would spare me some trouble," retorted Iruka dryly, eluding the question.

She raised an innocent, perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"I heard you got hurt yesterday," she said all of a sudden, changing tactics. The rather abrupt shift in the conversation did not unsettle him, to her slight dismay.

"Nothing a few days' rest won't cure," he assured her curtly, inwardly fuming. Kurenai was going to get a piece of his mind as soon as he could get his paws on her. "As for the report ..."

She eyed him without enthusiasm. "You're no fun, you know that?"

Iruka seemed to consider her remark for a moment. "Probably not," he agreed blandly, before launching in a comprehensive account of their mission. Tsunade watched him out of the corner of her eye, nibbling her lower lip pensively.

When he was finished, he bowed curtly, replaced his concealing jutsu, and headed for the open window. He was about to jump outside when Tsunade soft question stopped him.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

One gloved hand on the window's frame, all his body stiffening, Iruka did not answer immediately. During a few seconds, silence hung thick between them, only broken by the light rustle of the white linen curtains.

"I don't hate you, Tsunade-sama," he said at last. "It's just that ..."

"... I am not Sandaime," she finished with a wan smile.

He turned to her then, a silent, immobile shadow in the sunlight, his black hair billowing eerily in the light breeze. She wasn't looking at goodhearted, easygoing Iruka anymore. Kurohyou stood before her, and she could feel the intensity of his gaze even through the mask. Their eyes locked, dark slits against amber irises, Hokage against Hunter. A shudder crawled up her spine -- not from fear, but a strange emotion she had not felt in a long time.

Anguish.

"No," he confirmed quietly, "You are not."

Iruka leaped through the window without another word, feeling suddenly very old, and very cold.

§§§

Four hours later, Iruka in his regular Chuunin uniform walked down the streets of Konoha. He felt oddly naked without his faithful swords, which was quite absurd, since he could summon them at a moment's notice using the Ken Yuuki No Jutsu. Of course, that would rather blow his cover away, Tsume and Kiba having a reputation of their own.

Maybe he should just retire, he thought, and become a Jounin. Iruka wondered, with a sardonic smile, what it revealed about him that he should find a Jounin's life restful. He had often been sorely tempted to do it, but never did. He was acutely aware of his responsibilities to the village -- making his failure during the last attack all the more painful. Besides, he liked his job at the Academy. Small children were mostly innocent and uncomplicated, and he never felt better than with them.

Iruka tried his best to be there for them all, just like he would have wanted his parents to be when he was younger. Sandaime had, in a way, but it had not been the same -- the Hokage had to take care of everyone in the village. Konohamaru especially was going to need him, and he fully intended to support him through the trials of grief and loss.

How could he abandon them?

The answer was simple, and had never wavered since he took up the mask of Kurohyou: he could not.

And would not.

That last thought brought sincere joy, and a small measure of peace, to his heart, for the first time since Sandaime's death. He was needed. That was what kept him going, day after day, night after night. And sometimes, when he just felt like ending it all for good, his children's smile reminded him there were things in this world, amidst all the pain and the horror, that were worth living and fighting for.

He had left open his flak jacket, as the weather was surprisingly warmer than was usual in Konoha. The sun was high, almost at its zenith, with no clouds to be seen, and all in all, it looked like the day would be particularly radiant. As far as Iruka was concerned, it would be if he managed to find a certain orange-clad, spiky-haired hellion. Which shouldn't be too hard, given Iruka's tracking skills and Naruto's tendency to eat naught but ramen. Though the Hunter knew better than to expect anything of him...

As he neared Ichiraku, the strong scent of hot ramen made his mouth water, even though he wasn't really hungry. As expected, Naruto was wolfing down bowl after bowl of ramen. He also noticed, to his slight irritation, that Kakashi was there too. He hadn't been on the best of terms with the man since the Chuunin exam incident, and after the attack, they obviously didn't have any time to talk it out. Sakura spotted him first, and waved happily at him. He greeted her with genuine affection as he plopped down next the oblivious Naruto. Sasuke did not so much as glance at him, but Iruka saluted him anyway.

At last, he turned to Kakashi, who seemed to be rather engrossed in his reading.

"Good afternoon, Kakashi-sensei," Iruka said politely. The Jounin waved at him distractedly, not bothering to look up.

The Hunter grimaced, then shrugged philosophically and ordered some ramen for him and Naruto -- eliciting squeals of delight from the hyperactive Genin. He listened patiently as the boy related his "exploits" and basically everything that had happened to him since they had last seen each other --including the disastrous mission of that morning, when he had accidentally set fire to a old man's wig.

Iruka almost felt sorry for Tsunade-sama.

Unbeknownst to the young man, Kakashi was watching him intently. The Jounin was a curious man by nature, and the young teacher intrigued him. During the few months since their first 'meeting', he had made a point of putting all his ninja's skills into observing him, cataloguing every little detail he could glean in his considerable memory.

Iruka wasn't exactly handsome, Kakashi estimated. He wasn't masculine enough for that -- not very tall, with a lithe, willowy frame, narrow shoulders and hips. Yet he was an attractive man, by anyone's standards: he had a firm, lean body taut with flat wiry muscles, a shock of dark sleek hair tied up in a ponytail, stray locks framing his face, high cheekbones and fine features -- though of a different character than was usual amongst the Konoha villagers. The scar crossing his nose only added to his air of exoticism.

There was freedom in his step, an unconscious confidence that he could not smother, no more than his easy smile and quick laugh. He had the silent walk of an experienced shinobi, unexpected in a Chuunin, and yet some of his reactions to Kakashi's teasing -- such as his surprising tendency to blush at every little remark -- were downright childish, if endearing. Iruka didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve, but in his eyes. They were what Kakashi liked the most in him, chocolate brown eyes, alight with a strange glee -- almost as if he knew something they didn't.

But they could also blaze with a disturbing intensity -- Kakashi knew that well, having been on the receiving end of Iruka's wrath more than once. He remembered especially that one time, before the Chuunin exam, when he had nominated his students against the younger man's judgment. There had been fire in his eyes then, a burning desire to protect someone he held dear -- namely Naruto, a boy he had more than enough reason to hate, and yet didn't. His fierceness had angered Kakashi, because it had stirred something in him he hadn't cared to admit -- envy. Not for Iruka, but for Naruto, paradoxically. A deep, abiding craving to be _that_ important to someone.

All in all, the young Chuunin was still a veritable mystery to him -- and one Kakashi was quite determined to uncover.

* * *

Feedback very much welcome.  



	4. TSB3: From The Inside

**The Silent Blade: Hunter  
**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)yahoo(dot)com  
**Category:** Angst/Romance  
**Keywords: **Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary:** The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. (Book 1, KakaIru)** Edited version**  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo.No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes:** I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Yummy.

* * *

**Chapter 3: From the Inside**

**_There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls._**

-- George Carlin

§§§

"And then Asuma-sensei did this very wicked thing with his tongue ..."

Kakashi almost choked on his ramen, and he looked up sharply, his single blue eye widening. So engrossed had he been in his analysis of Iruka's character, that the Chuunin had managed to catch him quite unaware. He did not like it.

"Asuma did_ what_?"

"Somehow I thought that would catch your attention," Iruka murmured, pursing his lips in slight distaste. "Did you even listen to a word of what I said?"

"No, I didn't," the Jounin confirmed amiably. "What did you say?"

Iruka struggled visibly for a few seconds to compose himself, cursing inwardly his lack of control over his emotions. The man's sheer presence never failed to make his blood boil. Especially these days, when even petty little things had a severe tendency to grate on his nerves.

"Would you mind," he asked as politely as he could, "If I borrowed Naruto for the afternoon?"

Kakashi seemed to consider that for a moment, tilting his bushy head pensively.

"Actually, yes, I think I would."

Which was absolutely false, and both of them knew it. It was Sunday, and Naruto was technically off-duty. Iruka had only been asking Kakashi out of professional consideration.

It was the proverbial straw. Iruka saw red.

As the Jounin turned back to his meal, the Hunter grabbed him roughly by his flak jacket, and, with surprising strength, yanked him off his stool, before pushing him out in the fortunately deserted street.

"What's your problem?" Iruka yelled. Behind him, he could feel his former students' bewildered eyes on his back, but at this point, he was beyond caring.

Kakashi, slightly surprised, straightened his ruffled clothes and pride.

"I could ask you the same question," he retorted dryly, vaguely amused, as he admired shamelessly Iruka's darkly flushed face. Anger suited him well, Kakashi thought. "You're the one screaming your lungs off, not me."

The Chuunin looked faintly insulted at that, but went on doggedly.

"Don't play innocent with me," he seethed. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Kakashi did. However, he certainly wasn't going to tell him that. He found this new version of Iruka curiously fascinating, and besides, he wasn't quite done with him.

"I do?" he said, looking rather bored with the whole conversation.

Iruka's fury increased with the Jounin's nonchalance. He wanted to get a reaction, any reaction out of the aloof, indifferent ninja. The tension that had been bottling up deep inside him since the runaway's execution suddenly focused solely on Kakashi -- a man who stirred painfully confusing, contradictory emotions in him, and who seemed, plainly, to bring out the worst in him. Anger, obviously; jealousy, for being close to Naruto on a daily basis; involuntary, childish delight at his antics and unusual way of life; and lastly, desire -- he could not deny it.

"Is it about that fucking exam? I said I was sorry, for Hokage's sake! Won't you ever let it go? Why do you do that to me?"

Kakashi was surprised at hearing him swear. It was the last question, however, that appalled him. What was Iruka ranting about?

The three Genins watched their elders in growing dismay, confusion written plainly on their young faces. Even Sasuke seemed slightly distressed. Never before before had they seen calm, laid-back Iruka-sensei so enraged.

What had started as innocent teasing -- maybe not so innocent, Kakashi admitted -- was quickly turning into something a lot uglier.

It wasn't about him or their dispute anymore, Kakashi realized, it went far beyond that. The Chuunin was alarmingly close to a nervous breakdown, the tight grasp he kept on his power dissolving as his anger neared its peak. The air crackled around him, and chakra flared between his fingers as he clenched and unclenched his fists spasmodically.

He was pale, and there were bags under his eyes, the Jounin noted suddenly. He looked taut and drawn and ready to burst and why hadn't he noticed it sooner?

Kakashi had to end it, and quickly. He grabbed the young man by his left arm arm and shook him without gentleness.

"Snap out of it, Iruka!" he ordered firmly.

Iruka flinched visibly, his dilated pupils coming back into focus. Then, with a hiss of pain, he wrenched himself from Kakashi's grasp. His right hand flew to his arm, and he stifled a curse. A rush of fresh blood seeped through the material of his shirt, smearing his fingers and spattering the ground.

"Iruka-sensei!" cried Naruto, horrified. He lunged forward to help his beloved teacher, but Sasuke's strong grip on his shoulder stopped him.

"Leave them," he cut in coldly. The blonde Genin stepped back reluctantly, nibbling his lower lip in worry.

Kakashi had not moved. A succession of images passed through his mind at an alarming rate. Kurohyou, injured during their mission, a kunai sticking out of his _left_ arm; his surprising consideration of Naruto, earlier that morning; Iruka, gentle Iruka, radiating astounding power and fury; Iruka, clutching his wounded limb ...

And suddenly, everything clicked together.

Their eyes met. The breathless Chuunin's gaze locked with the Jounin one-eyed, shocked stare.

"Looks like the cat got your tongue," murmured Kakashi eventually, wincing inwardly at the awful pun. He had wanted to discover Iruka's secret, and he had gained his end, as he always did. There was no triumph to be seen in his single blue eye, however -- he merely felt drained, and surprisingly sad. He had succeeded, pushing the right buttons at the right moment -- but at what cost?

_He knows_, thought Iruka in silent despair. _He _knows.

There, at that fleeting moment, his mask slipped. A profound lassitude washed over the young man, and he wished he could curl up in a ball, and sleep, sleep the pain away.

_I don't want to kill him._

The mere thought twisted something viciously in his gut.

There was only thing left for him to do at that instant.

Iruka turned around and fled.

Kakashi watched him go, hoping against all odds that he had merely been jumping hastily to conclusions.

Knowing he hadn't.

§§§

Midnight found Kurohyou standing stiff and straight by the memorial stone outside the village. He knew Kakashi would come -- his legendary curiosity would undoubtedly get the better of him.

After their altercation at the Ichiraku -- and his embarrassing, unreasoned bout of anger -- the young man had spent excruciating hours ruminating his possible courses of action -- and insufferable though the Jounin could be, slaying him definitely held no appeal to him. Quite the contrary.

He had been lenient with his secret of late, he knew -- sparing Kurenai's life, letting her and the Hokage continually joke about his identity...

_Careless._ The word echoed eerily in his head.

Prostrated on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, Iruka had realized that he had no choice but to confront Kakashi. There was no mission scheduled that night -- if the Jounin came anyway at their usual summoning spot, Iruka's doubts would be confirmed.

Then, Iruka would have to kill him.

And now, shivering in the chill night, the Hunter merely felt bleak, and very, so very tired.

Had Iruka been less distressed, his mind turned less inward on his incertitude and guilt, he would have noticed the warning signs his body was sending him. When he had extracted the kunai, almost a day ago, a dirty shard of metal had lodged itself, unnoticed, deep inside the wound. He had only disinfected it shallowly and quickly; his weakened state had done the rest. Back there, at the ramen restaurant, he had already been experiencing the first symptoms of the infection -- he had merely dismissed them as side effects of his humiliating lack of control.

Kakashi's sudden appearance caught him off guard. He was wearing his ANBU uniform, complete with the mask and steel breastplate. The metallic glint of the armor in the pallid moonlight irked Iruka's over-sensitized, bloodshot eyes. He blinked, trying to get some moisture back -- in vain.

His worst fear had just been confirmed. The Jounin knew.

Head spinning, black spots dancing before his eyes, the hunter readied himself. As he lunged toward his opponent, he let Kurohyou take over, burying his pain and fatigue along with his reason.

Steel crashed against steel, in a silent contest of will and skill. Iruka observed the scene distantly, detachedly, dealing blow after blow without thinking, basking in the almost restful normality of it all. Slash, feint, slash, dodge, step, slash -- a routine his muscles and the remotest part of his brain could have accomplished in his sleep.

Iruka struggled both against Kakashi and his body's constant betrayal. Abruptly, one of his knees gave out, and he faltered, the Jounin's katana only narrowly missing his head. With a sudden burst of desperate energy, he effectuated an almost elegant backflip, and promptly regained his balance.

Hands gripping the padded hilt of his sword, slightly winded, Kakashi began to doubt the wisdom of his decision to defy the Hunter. For the first time in countless years, he felt something akin to fear creeping up his spine.

Kurohyou was a killer, and Kakashi was his prey.

And yet, the Jounin could not help feeling that something was off. Iruka's technique was flawless, his speed astounding, but his reflexes seemed somehow dulled, dimmed, and his reactions vaguely ... out of phase.

Iruka was very far from such cares. He did not feel anything anymore, be it anger, sorrow, or mere weariness. Not even the cold. He fought mechanically, relying sorely on his over-trained instinct, his mind clouded by the fever that wracked his body.

Suddenly, Kakashi lunged at him. The hunter moved at the last second, stepping aside and ... vanishing. Sandaime himself had taught him that particular move, which he had named the "Phantom Step". Using the flash of Kakashi's blade as a cover, he had propelled himself at the edge of the Jounin's field of vision -- thus disappearing from view and concealing efficiently his next attack.

Kakashi ducked with surprising dexterity the blow that would have beheaded him, Tsume and Kiba swishing above his bushy, silver-haired head. He rolled quickly on the grass, dodging another slash by a few inches. He twisted, grabbed a shuriken, and threw it deftly at a nearby branch. Then, tapping into his considerable Ninjutsu skill, he used the Kawarimi No Jutsu at the very moment Iruka's blade should have embedded itself in his skull -- effectively destabilizing his opponent.

He let himself drop from the tree a few meters away from the hunter, chest heaving. He would never beat him without the Sharingan, he realized grimly. Iruka, too, seemed to understand that perfectly, and would never give him the opportunity to actually use this advantage. If he tried but to remove his mask -- offering a invaluable opening in the process -- the younger man would be on him in an instant.

Iruka's masked gaze never left him, his slender dark body poised for attack, obviously ready for the last, lethal assault. Kakashi was surprised to see his hands shaking slightly -- from the thrill of the hunt, or from exhaustion? He half-hoped, for his health at least, that it was the latter -- fighting a worn out Hunter would certainly give him an edge. Yet the more rational part of his brain, that wasn't clouded by his instinct of survival, screamed at the absurdity of it all. Kakashi rather enjoyed living, thank-you-very-much, but that didn't mean he wanted Iruka to die, either.

His hesitation lasted but a few seconds before he resolutely made up his mind. Maybe he could still save that stubborn Chuunin from himself. Tightening his grip on the heavy katana, he launched himself at the Hunter, raised the weapon high above his head, and, flipping it at the last moment, flung the dull edge of the blade right at Iruka's skull.

Or at least tried to. Tsume and Kiba shot up at an alarming speed, only narrowly blocking the Jounin's sword. Kakashi had put all his physical power in this move, hoping to stun him into dropping his weapons with his mightier attack. They remained locked in that stance for a few excruciatingly long seconds, each daring the other to give in. Iruka's arms trembled under the strain -- Kakashi really was stronger than he had anticipated --, biting his lips to stifle his cries of pain as the muscle of his biceps began tearing anew. He almost dropped Tsume, but held on by sheer willpower.

With the last of his strength, the young man unexpectedly lowered both his blades, and let himself stoop down below the Jounin, back hitting the grass. His right leg then shot up straight, his leather boot slamming between Kakashi's eyes at full force. The ANBU mask broke with an ominous crack under the impact, and he staggered backwards.

Iruka sprang back to his feet, swaying slightly, and forced the Jounin to step back. It was all Kakashi could do to protect himself against the more or less lethal blows the hunter rained on him. His back suddenly hit the bark of a tree, blocking his precipitate retreat. In a matter of seconds, Kiba's sharp edge pressed threateningly against the pale, tender skin of his throat.

The fight was over. Kakashi had lost. He dropped the katana listlessly.

They contemplated each other for a long time, both trying to catch their breath, the eerie silence of the night only disrupted by the wild beating of their hearts.

Without knowing exactly why, Kakashi wasn't afraid anymore. Slowly, ever so slowly, his hand sneaked up, caressing Iruka's burning skin, resting on his neck in silent question. The blade did not move. Forsaking his hesitations, Kakashi lifted up the feline-like mask.

The hunter's face was abnormally flushed, noted the more detached part of his mind, while the more sensual portion merely took in his lightly parted lips and labored breath with a flaring, disconcerting surge of desire. On impulse, Kakashi leaned in and pressed his lips softly against Iruka's.

The Chuunin's mind, already rather cloudy, went utterly blank. Instinct, once again, took over, and he kneed Kakashi viciously in the gut. The older man doubled over in surprised pain. As he straightened, another sword went to join Kiba against his neck. Iruka looked plainly murderous.

"So wild," murmured Kakashi, "So savage ..."

He had yet to remove his hand.

Mismatched eyes plunged into the dark depths of Iruka's feverish gaze, probing, questioning, wondering.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The question seemed to jolt the Hunter back to reality. He stepped back slowly, staring at Kakashi in dazed horror. He had been close, so close to lose himself into Kurohyou ... To yield to the ruthless killer hidden deep within himself.

The blades fell limply from his hands and clattered on the ground, like an ominous knell that echoed in Iruka's heart alone. He slid to his knees, an animal, terrified yowl rising in his chest, choking, burning, excruciating -- the mind as fevered as the body.

He hugged himself desperately, tears running down his cheeks, rocking back and forth like a small child, unable to stifle the anguished cries that escaped his lips.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no ..._

He was only vaguely aware of Kakashi's strong arms lifting him up with surprising care, before he sunk into a heavy, fever-induced sleep, his dark head pillowed on a warm, broad shoulder.

* * *

Feeback welcome.  



	5. TSB4: Careful Where You Stand

**The Silent Blade: Hunter  
**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:**  
**Category:** Angst/Romance  
**Keywords**: Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers**: Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary:** The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. (Book 1, KakaIru) **Edited version**  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes:** I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Yummy.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Careful where you stand**

**_Never look down on anybody unless you helping him up._**

-- Jesse Jackson 

§§§

Iruka wavered in and out of consciousness during most of the night, alternately shaking with chills and burning with fever. He cried out if his arm was so much as grazed. The flesh around the wound was swollen and inflamed, its glaring red hue contrasting with the Chuunin's otherwise smooth dark skin.

He was mostly delirious, mumbling and trashing in his restless sleep. Vaguely, from times to times, he found some relief in the cool wet cloth that was placed on his forehead. The heavenly feeling soon faded however as fever dried and warmed the rough fabric, and Iruka's torment started all over again.

Kakashi, with untiring patience, freshened the cloth regularly, and replaced it whenever the younger man's hectic moves knocked it off. Memories washed over him regularly -- recollections of his younger self nursing his often sick or wounded childhood friend -- and he had a hard time keeping them at bay. Obito had been everything to him -- brother, friend, comrade, lover. But he was dead -- a pile of dust in a cold wooden coffin six feet under the ground.

Kakashi, for all his free-spirited attitude, was nothing if a realist -- life had seen to that. He saw no point in indulging himself in wishful regrets that would bring him nothing but a painful, intense yearning to see Obito's impish grin one last time.

With a sigh, the Jounin forced himself to focus on his patient. He had managed to remove the shard with painstaking efforts, but the damage had already been done. It had been lodged so deep he had actually toyed with the idea of calling a healer-nin. The location of the wound, however, right below Iruka's Hunter tattoo, had promptly dissuaded him. Kakashi had blessed gods he didn't really believe in for his medic training -- a compulsory part of the ANBU instruction whose relevance he was only beginning to appreciate.

He had cleaned the wound, disinfected thoroughly -- wincing slightly as Iruka moaned in pain and tried to escape his ministrations - and bandaged it tightly with crisp, clean dressings. Then, he had dosed him with strong antipyretics and antibiotics.

Iruka's fever reached its peak around two in the morning. He was drenched in sweat, his unbound hair sticking to his clammy face. The Jounin felt slightly relieved -- sweat not only would cool the body temperature down, but could also be a sign that Iruka was slowly overcoming the infection. By three, the Chuunin's breathing had evened progressively, and, lulled by the rhythmic motions of wet cloth against his brow, Iruka had sunk into an exhausted slumber.

Kakashi felt utterly drained, physically, for obvious reasons, but also mentally. He did not want to think - that would mean processing, accepting what had transpired a few hours earlier -- but his mind just would not shut down. His single eye drifted back to the prone for huddled under his heavy blankets, dark hair in disarray, looking small and young and for all the world like a drowsy feline -- cute and unthreatening until it ripped your eyes out.

Kakashi resisted the sudden, silly urge to tuck one stray lock behind the Chuunin's slightly pointed ear. _Damn that man_, he thought tartly, snatching his hand back hastily. _One moment I'd like nothing more than to feed him his own forehead protector, and the next ..._ The Jounin cut short his train of thought, flinching as he remembered _vividly _Iruka's less than pleased reaction to his tentative kiss.

Well, he would just have to be more careful next time. Because, somewhere between fighting and nursing the Chuunin, he had decided there would be a next time, and many more if he had a say in the matter. Provided he lived long enough for that, of course.

But then, Hatake Kakashi was nothing if a survivor.

He settled as comfortably as he could against the hard headboard of the bed, and drew out his infamous book from a pocket of his one of his back pockets. It wouldn't be the first time he pulled off an all-nighter at a friend's bedside -- that the 'friend' in question had tried to turn him into Jounin-pickles but a few hours ago and had also all but emasculated him, merely made matters a little weirder.

... So maybe a lot weirder.

Not that Kakashi was complaining. His life, as far as he could remember, had never held one shred of normalcy -- genius ninja, six-year-old Chuunin, youngest ANBU in the history of Konoha, only non-Uchiha Sharingan user -- and obviously Iruka's unexpected but not unwanted barging into his existence was not going to help any. The Jounin had stopped trying to make sense of his life a long time ago - he accepted things, friends, foes, events as they came, and dealt with them the best he could.

From the moment they received their forehead protector, to say nothing of their Academy years, ninjas held approximately as much control over his existence as newborn babies -- their lives rested in their commanding officers' hands from birth to grave, first teachers, then team leaders. The Hunters and the Hokage, who answered to almost no one, were paradoxically even more bound than their subordinates. The more skilled and experienced one grew, the less free one became, weighted down by the responsibilities steadily added upon one's shoulders -- and even more so by the faith shining in the eyes of the people one was supposed to protect.

Iruka knew that feeling well, he realized suddenly. He _understood_. The Jounin's gaze settled once again on the slumbering form curled up under the covers next to him, an odd sense of kinship washing over him. Kakashi acknowledged and hated and accepted the darkness in himself, the blood on his hands, as an integral part of his being. ANBU members and Hunters shouldered the darkness of the village, staining their blades and souls so others would not have to.

Iruka, too, was a killer. Kill so others could live -- that was the way of the Hunters. They shared the same darkness, and perhaps that was what had unconsciously drawn Kakashi to him in the first place. How else to explain his disturbing fascination and attraction for the dark-haired, fair-hearted Chuunin, which had led him to keep a nearly constant watch on Iruka's every moves?

The first time he had laid his single eye on Iruka, Kakashi had not thought much of him. It had been his first summon as a teacher, and he had been slightly irked, of course, to see that Sandaime had convoked a mere Chuunin to a meeting traditionally reserved to Jounins. Later, he had learnt to his surprise that Iruka was systematically invited to Jounin reunions - most people believed it was because of the Hokage's well-known fondness for him, and shrugged it off as another of the old man's whims. He had done the same, and had mostly forgotten all about the dark-haired Chuunin as the meeting progressed -- that was, until Iruka's heated, overly-emotional intervention.

What had caught Kakashi's attention, more than the interference in itself, was the ease with which Iruka seemed to blend in the background when he wished to. Unthreatening, inconspicuous, he had this uncanny ability of making himself forgotten on the sidelines, allowing people to talk more freely they would have otherwise. Kakashi, however, had not disregarded him - more out of habit than anything else -- and had watched in puzzled fascination as his colleagues utterly forgot Iruka's presence.

This level of skill in discretion was mastered by few -- himself included -- and Kakashi had certainly not expected a simple Academy teacher to be one of them.

From that day on, the Jounin had kept a tight surveillance on the young teacher. Being observant was part of a ninja's job, and the Sharingan had conditioned his mind to catalogue every detail, however insignificant, it could register. He had felt a little silly and even bordering on the voyeuristic at first, but, knowing better than to bypass his instincts' warning signs, he had persevered.

Those months had been terribly frustrating. The Chuunin _was_ good, he had been forced to admit -- he had lost count of the times Iruka had simply seemed to vanish into thin air, or sent him on a wrong track -- voluntarily or not, Kakashi couldn't tell. Curiously enough, the teacher had never given any indication he knew Kakashi was stalking him. And so the Jounin had began slowly figuring out the complex puzzle that was Iruka, piece by piece, patiently - all the while feeling he was missing something essential, the key to Iruka's mystery.

_Kurohyou_.

Kakashi knew he would have found out sooner or later - he had been on the verge of discovering already. That scene at Ichiraku had simply helped him put two and two together. But he had paid the price of his curiosity -- Iruka had almost killed him as a result.

The Jounin sighed lightly, unable to focus on his reading. He glowered enviously at the object of his musings who slept on, oblivious.

§§§

About three hours later, Iruka awoke.

Training took over almost instantly, stifling his body's instinctive reaction at finding himself in a foreign bed -- namely leap out of said furniture and hurl a kunai at anything that moved. Instead, he forced himself to stay still in an almost flawless imitation of sleep. He was in no condition to fight, he knew, and whoever his opponent was, he had yet to kill him -- better to wait and see.

Kakashi, however, had followed his train of thought easily -- such methods were so ingrained in high-level ninjas they almost became a second nature with time. One minute hitch in Iruka's otherwise even breathing had alerted him the moment the Chuunin had awoken.

"Good morning," he offered jovially -- as if greeting a fevered, half-naked man in his bed at six in the morning was a perfectly natural occurrence. Kakashi watched with no small amount of amusement as the younger man promptly opened his eyes, looking rather disgruntled, and discreetly assessed his situation in a matter of seconds. _A perfectly trained warrior_ _indeed_, he thought wryly.

The Hunter sat up slowly, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He then gingerly flexed his biceps, jaw clenched against the pain.

"Did you do that?" he asked tersely after a while, fingering gingerly the clean bandages.

"Why, I feel perfectly fine, thanks for your concern," the Jounin replied smoothly, still smiling.

He cursed inwardly to have forgotten to set his cloth mask back into its place -- he felt oddly naked without it. Though, to be perfectly honest, it was only fair that he stayed uncovered when in Iruka's presence -- he had, after all, forcefully stripped the man of his own secret. He had thought to replace his forehead protector over his left eye, however. Only a true Uchiha could fully control the Sharingan, and the Jounin risked both his health and sanity each time he used it. Covering it was the only way Kakashi had to prevent that from actually happening, and he knew better than to disregard _that_, even in his exhausted state.

A dark blush crept up Iruka's cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, looking up to meet Kakashi's eye. _For everything_, he couldn't bring himself to add.

Kakashi said nothing. He merely eyed the younger man, a pensive expression gracing his pale features. Iruka flushed even harder under the Jounin's patient, curious scrutiny, noticing for the first time in the whole exchange that Kakashi's visage was exposed. He had not really paid attention to it during their fight, for obvious reasons, but now the Chuunin found himself staring unreservedly at Kakashi's face.

It was rather square, with a well-defined jaw, high-cheekbones and a long, pale neck. His nose was straight and finely-chiseled, his lips soft and rosy -- maybe a little too thin. His chin had the hint of a cleft. One direct, appraising blue eye stared right into his own dark orbs, sparkling with impish wit and shrewdness and at the same time deep enough for Iruka to drown in - full of memories probably as somber as his own painful experiences. The Konoha sigil rested sagely across Kakashi's straight, high forehead, effectively concealing the eerie Sharingan eye.

Suddenly extremely embarrassed, Iruka moved abruptly to get off the bed, springing up to his feet. His legs, as was to be expected, gave way under him and he landed unceremonially on the wooden floor.

"Oh, my," murmured Kakashi, knowing better than to rush to his side.

Sprawled on the parquet, the hunter bit his lips in helpless frustration. In another time, in another place, he would probably have found his whole ordeal quite funny and laughed it off, but at that moment, eyes downcast in utter humiliation, he could only shake with exhausted rage at his own weakness.

After a moment, Kakashi crouched down next to Iruka's shivering prone form. The Chuunin looked up slowly. Their eyes met, curious, calm blue pupil against dark, troubled ones.

Kakashi stretched out one hand. He had scars on the tip of his fingers, Iruka noticed idly. He stared at it with all the enthusiasm of someone who had just found Jiraya-sama in his bath. Then, very slowly, he took it. Before he had a chance to change his mind, the Jounin had sneaked an arm around his waist and hauled him up, their body suddenly pressed flush against each other.

Iruka shivered at the disturbing intimacy of such a contact. Kakashi, magnanimous, pretended not to notice, and promptly put on hold his own reaction at their closeness.

"You really need a bath," he informed the Chuunin, almost gleefully teasing. "You stink like a wet cat."

Iruka looked vaguely affronted at that, but couldn't quite bring himself to care at this point. Besides, it was probably true. He slumped against Kakashi bonelessly, and allowed the other man to steer him out of the room without much resistance.

Kakashi's small apartment, he discovered, was rather similar to his bedroom -- plain, practical, and appallingly messy. He glimpsed a tiny, functional kitchen on his right. It opened on a surprisingly spacious living room, whose pinewood furniture had been dusted recently. The pale morning sun filtered through one ajar window, and bathed the room with the soft, typical light of spring mornings. It would have been a very decent flat, at least in Iruka's opinion, had it been but a_ little_ less ill-kempt. Dog-eared, worn books of all kinds littered the wooden floor, a silver saltcellar throned on a nearby bookshelf, various weapons were embedded in the kitchen counter ... Iruka shut his eyes resolutely to block the nightmarish vision.

The bathroom was no better. Wet bundled towels, half-empty shampoo bottles and discarded dirty clothes lay scattered almost everywhere on the white and blue tiling.

Iruka had thought, candidly, that he had hit the rock bottom of untidiness with Naruto. Obviously, he had been wrong -- rock bottom had just hit him. It was like being trapped in a nightmare filled with grown-up versions of the hyperactive Genin. Without any possible escape.

The Jounin, heedless of Iruka's horrified reticence, maneuvered the younger man inside without ever releasing his firm grip on his waist. He settled him on the toilet seat, and pivoted to turn on the shower taps. He then removed his gloves, carelessly dropping them on the floor. His clothes followed suit, until he was stripped down to his black cotton boxers.

"What," asked Iruka, gritting his teeth, "Do you think you're doing?"

"Why, did you think I showered with my clothes on? Sorry to disappoint."

"Kakashi," said the Hunter, his voice a dangerous, low growl.

Kakashi sobered almost instantly.

"It's all you can do to stay conscious," he stated evenly. "No way I'm letting you shower alone. If anything happened to you, Naruto would have my head. You know how he is," he added with a self-conscious, apologetic grin.

Iruka knew. He seemed to digest the information slowly. Kakashi noted, amused, that the Chuunin was pointedly avoiding to look at him. He smiled, then wheeled around to check the warmth of the water. Satisfied, he turned back to Iruka, only to find the younger man staring at the ground, a fierce blush covering his cheeks. He mumbled something Kakashi did not catch.

"What was that?" he questioned curiously.

"Can't ..." As Kakashi merely him a blank look, Iruka gestured to his black leggings helplessly.

Understanding dawned in the Jounin's single eye. He crouched down in front of Iruka and helped him out of his remaining clothes.

"It's not like you've got anything more than I do," he remarked wryly as the teacher flatly refused to remove his undergarments. The Hunter's dark glare convinced him not to push his luck.

It took all his Jounin and ANBU training not to flinch away reflexively when he felt Iruka's hand settle on his brow before he could get up. The Chuunin lifted the forehead protector slowly, gingerly. Kakashi's breath caught in his throat and he stiffened, feeling oddly vulnerable. Light, callused fingers trailed over the large, ugly scar, a thumb caressing the long healed mark in awed curiosity.

Kakashi shivered when Iruka abruptly snatched his hand back.

Neither of them willing to process what had just happened, Kakashi flung an arm around the smaller man's shoulders, adjusted his balance as the Chuunin shifted his weight to rest against him. Together they stepped under the jet. Iruka swore creatively, to Kakashi's open delight, as the tepid water hit his warm skin. He tried to squirm out of the Jounin's grasp, but in vain.

"Where do you think you're going?" laughed Kakashi.

"Cold," hissed Iruka, teeth chattering, "Cold!"

"You have a fever," he replied slowly, as if talking to a small child, "What did you expect? A sauna?"

Iruka shaking and holding onto him for dear life, Kakashi sat down carefully on the shower tiles. The younger man settled against him, pillowing his dark head on the the Jounin's chest. He was confused, horrified at his own recklessness, but Kakashi's aura was oddly soothing, his skin soft and warm, and his hands ...

His eyes widened comically when he realized where exactly Kakashi's hands had strayed. His _hair_, of all things. Iruka felt faintly relieved -- he had half-feared Kakashi would try something perverted when he couldn't quite retaliate. He forced himself to calm down. The Jounin only meant to wash his chevelure, which, he had to admit, probably needed it badly.

At twenty-five, Iruka certainly was no stranger to sex. Leading a double-life, in close proximity to death and violence almost on a daily basis, the hunter had rarely refused himself the simple solace of physical pleasure, be it alone or with a partner -- male or female, it had never really mattered to him.

He had played around some with Anko, back in their younger days -- both of them, for very different reasons, had needed to feel alive and wanted at that time -- but the purely carnal relationship had not lasted. A few years later, there had been Iria. Fair-haired, bleak-eyed, orphan Iria. He could have loved her, had wished to, but life had decided otherwise - when she had taken on the name of Byakko the White Fox, she had left Iria behind, and there simply hadn't been a place for him in her new life.

Then, there had been a number of inconsequential flings, to find a measure of comfort after a particularly hard mission, or simply not to forget the feeling of another skin on his own, the sound of another voice in his ears, when the loneliness became too much to bear.

Those casual affairs did nothing to alleviate his abiding sense of hollowness and solitude, however. Physical contact was one thing, but Iruka had been craving something deeper. Affection he did not lack, from Naruto as well as his other students. What he wanted was a mate, someone who _understood,_ someone he would not have to lie to -- a kind of involvement his Hunter status forbid him to pursue.

Therefore, he had retreated into celibacy and self-provided pleasure. Better to be alone, he had thought, than lonely in a stranger's arms.

But this, Kakashi's hands in his hair, skillfully massaging his scalp, tepid water running down his cheeks like tears he could not shed, shivering and burning at their closeness, was the most intimate situation he had ever found himself in. He was almost overwhelmed.

The Jounin watched, amused, as his younger companion relaxed progressively, the tension abating in his firm muscles, his shoulders sagging slightly. After a while, he shifted a little so Iruka's upper body could rest almost completely against his. It made it a lot harder for Kakashi to wash his hair, though, and eventually he settled for merely petting the dark tresses. He admired pensively the way their skin tones seemed to clash, milky white against chocolate brown, fair and dark, yin and yang. It was oddly fitting, he found, considering their almost polar personalities.

Iruka was introverted and shy, where Kakashi was all exuberance and flippant attitude; sensible and reliable, where he was free-spirited and laid-back; a overprotective mother hen, where he himself was more of a beardless, lethal, perverted version of Father Christmas.

The Chuunin's eyelids drooped slowly, then closed altogether. He let himself be lulled to sleep by the steady caress of Kakashi's hand.

For the first time in years, Iruka allowed himself the luxury of trust. As sleep slowly overcame him, he merely hoped, in the remotest part of his mind, that he would not regret it.

* * *

Feeback welcome.


	6. TSB5: Insight

**The Silent Blade: Hunter**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail: **  
**Category:** Action/Adventure/Romance  
**Keywords:** Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary:** The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. (Book 1, KakaIru) **Edited version**  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes: **I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Besides, I don't have a beta-reader. Poor me. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Yummy.

* * *

**Chapter 5:** **Insight**

"Insight" (From Merriam Webster)

1 : the power or act of seeing into a situation  
2 : the act or result of apprehending the inner nature of things or of seeing intuitively

§§§

_"Humans really are strange creatures," sighed a voice behind Iruka._

_The Hunter whirled around with a startled gasp._

_A boy sat on a stone bench, humming softly to himself. He looked up and Iruka gasped. His eyes were strangely blank, without pupils, the irises an odd shade of blue, almost glasslike. It was like looking into a mirror -- both revealing and deceptively blank._

_"Who are you?" he said, warily._

_"Don't you know?"_

_"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," retorted Iruka dryly._

_The boy smiled._

_He did not seem threatening -- but then, neither did Iruka. The young man reached for his weapons almost instinctively, horror creeping up his spine when he realized he did not have them anymore._

_"Where are my blades?" asked Iruka curtly, anger and fear lacing his voice, "and for that matter,_ where am I

_"You should know. This is your dream, after all."_

_"I am dreaming," repeated the Hunter. Then, after gazing around pensively, "Obviously."_

_He stood in the garden of his childhood home, which the Kyuubi had destroyed almost thirteen years ago. Everything was exactly as he remembered -- the light breeze, the cherry trees, the pond. The house itself was unchanged as well, so ancient it seemed to be rooted to the earth itself._

_There was one glaring difference, though -- leaden, eerie silence loomed over the whole estate, when back in his younger days the household had been so full of life and joyous cries._

_It had taken but the careless swing of a paw to squash it all forever._

_Iruka squeezed his eyes shut._

_"I meant it, you know," continued the boy, "Humans are the strangest beings I ever came across."_

_The Hunter opened one eye, warily. When he saw that the strange creature wasn't going to disappear anytime soon, he opened the other with a weary sigh._

_"You see, there is one fundamental contradiction in your specie."_

_Iruka quirked a skeptical eyebrow._

_"Only one?"_

_The boy ignored him._

_"There is nothing human beings treasure more than life. Life in themselves, life in those they hold dear. And yet ..." _

_"Yet?"_

_"Yet most of the things you create are meant to destroy."_

_Iruka swallowed audibly. _

_"You are a telling example of that contradiction, Iruka."_

_"I have never met a single human who loves life more than you do. Who else but you would get up at the crack of dawn, just to taste the morning before it awakened? Who else but you, as a child, would cry like the world was ending every time the sun set, for there was so much to do, to see, to learn -- and yet so few hours in a day to live them all? Who else but you treasures each life as it was unique?"_

_"Every life is unique," interrupted Iruka. "Any death is an irreparable loss."_

_"Even a murderer's?"_

_"In a twisted sort of way -- yes."_

_"Yes, that is what Umino Iruka is all about," the creature nodded. "And yet ... you are one of the most refined and perfect killing machines that ever dwelled on this earth."_

_"Kill so another can live -- what else is there?"_

_"There is always a choice. Look," said the boy, and suddenly the scenery changed to the familiar outskirts of the Academy. Iruka watched, befuddled, the children playing and chasing each other with joyous leaps and shouts. He couldn't recognize them._

_The boy snapped his fingers once._

_There was a white flash, and then ... loud, piercing screams that told of unnamable terror and pain._

_One after the other, the children fell on the dusty ground, and lay there, motionless, wide-eyed, blood-painted puppets suddenly cut off their strings by an invisible hand. _

_"Murderers. Traitors. Deserters," said the child, "Every single one of them."_

_Iruka stared, speechless, as the corpses on the ground slowly morphed into adult bodies._

_The Hunter couldn't tear his eyes off the battered faces._

_He knew them all._

_For he had killed them all, at one time or another._

_Shaking in mute dread, he tried to recompose himself before turning back to the boy. He was gazing up at him peacefully._

_"Your parents could not understand your tears -- nobody could."_

_"Who are you?" he managed to croak out. "_Who are you?

_A brief look of pain crossed the boy's face. He shook his head wearily, and closed his eyes._

_Then, suddenly, his features began to change, his skin darkening, and he seemed to glow for a few seconds._

_When the shimmering light receded, Iruka found himself staring at a perfect replica of himself in Hunter uniform, his porcelain mask in one hand, a bloodied Tsume in the other._

_"I am you," said the creature simply. "Who else?"_

_Iruka screamed._

§§§

Iruka woke up with a start, his breathing ragged, his heart beating wildly.

Just a dream, he thought, relief flooding through him.

Or was it?

The young man groaned as memories of the previous night washed over him. He remembered drifting off in Kakashi's arms -- he blushed a little at that -- and then ... well, nothing.

It was embarrassing, really.

He moved his limbs gingerly, checking for any sign of telltale soreness -- and was relieved to find none. So Kakashi had been quite the gentleman. A faint, impish smile tugged at his lips. After all, if anything ever happened between them, he'd rather he got more out of it than just a displeasing ache in his nether regions. A pleasurable shiver coursed through his body, but he shook it off quickly, amused at his own fickleness. Yes, he desired the Jounin. No, he was not going to do anything about that, and no, he did not want to question why.

Iruka stretched like a cat, languidly, and yawned into his hand. He noted a light stiffness, a vague ache, in his left arm, but all in all he felt mostly all right -- if a little tired.

He hesitated, torn between snuggling back under the warm, rumpled covers -- they still held Kakashi's scent, not that it mattered, of course -- and yielding to a lifetime of self-discipline and an innate loathing for laziness.

Being essentially himself, Iruka got up.

As he looked around, he couldn't hold back a small sigh. Kakashi's room looked even messier than the night before, if that was possible. He had vaguely hoped, optimistic fool that he was, that broad daylight would help a little.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Iruka walked to the open window at the other side of the room. Outside, Konoha was slowly shaking off the drowsiness of the night. The Hunter inhaled deeply, the crisp cool air tickling his nose slightly. He sneezed once, then closed his eyes, basking in the warm sunlight, reveling in the odd sense of peace that washed over him.

A faint presence of the edge of his consciousness made him whirl around suddenly.

"Good morning," offered Kakashi good-naturedly. He handed Iruka a steaming cup of coffee, laughing a little as the hunter hastily snatched it from his hand.

Iruka downed the cup in one gulp, to Kakashi's endless amusement, and sighed contentedly.

"Thanks," he said -- and Gods, but he meant it. Kakashi truly was gift from heaven.

"You're a complete addict, you know that?" said Jounin commented with a Cheshire grin.

Or not.

Iruka mock glared at Kakashi. He then noted, with no small amount of self gratification, that the older man had yet to put his mask back on.

Such trust, he thought, vaguely stirred. He blushed hard.

Kakashi eyed him curiously.

Iruka realized, cheeks flaming, that he had been staring for a while.

"Ah, huh," he stuttered, mortified. "Err..."

Kakashi's mismatched eyes twinkled.

"You really are cute when you blush," he remarked playfully, grinning in childish delight when the younger man flushed even harder.

"You're teasing me, aren't you?" Iruka said in sudden realization.

"Well, maybe," admitted Kakashi happily. "But you're cute anyway," he added, for the simple pleasure of watching a famous Hunter squirm like a child under his gaze.

Iruka snorted and shook his head, before turning back to the window in a futile attempt to conceal his embarrassment. Kakashi came to stand next to him. He wore gray, faded jogging pants and a matching tee-shirt -- honestly, he looked more like a professional slacker than an elite, genius ninja.

But who was Iruka to judge him, when he himself was the walking definition of "deceptive appearances"?

They watched the sun rising in companionable silence.

Or rather, Iruka did -- the Jounin kept glancing at Iruka, who was still mostly naked, wearing but one pair of Kakashi's boxers. After the hunter had dozed off in his arms, Kakashi had pragmatically finished undressing and washing him. He had then carefully dried him off, helped him in one of his own boxers and tucked him back into bed.

All that, without ravishing him on the spot.

Teaching Team Seven had given him steel nerves, but still!

He almost checked to see whether he had grown a halo yet. Saint Kakashi, pray for our souls.

Because, hell, there was no denying he wanted Iruka. Badly.

"Your swords," he began, because such trains of thoughts were definitely hazardous for his health, then stopped abruptly when Iruka turned to face him. He looked younger with his hair down, Kakashi decided, deceptively innocent and carefree, strands of dark hair framing his face and softening his features. He was still a little too pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes - but his skin had lost that sickly ashen hue, and at least he did not look like he'd drop dead anytime soon, which was an improvement in Kakashi's slightly biased opinion.

"What about them?" questioned Iruka curiously, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"They are good swords," replied Kakashi lamely, for he had utterly forgotten what he was about to say.

Iruka shot him a bewildered look, unable to help the puzzled frown that lodged itself on his brow.

"Yes, I guess they are," he answered carefully, as if speaking to a small child, or to an irritable lunatic. "Where are they, by the way?"

Kakashi gestured to the corridor vaguely.

"Living room."

Iruka nodded, then closed his eyes. His hands began to form complicated hand seals under Kakashi's curious gaze.

"Ken Yuuki No Jutsu," he breathed, and both swords materialized themselves into his hands.

Iruka beamed, absurdly relieved to handle the familiar twin swords. He loved the soft, almost alive feel of their leather hilts - they told the story of his life. Any elite ninja -- facing, dealing death -- held a special bond with his weapons -- it was a matter of life and death, of victory and loss, of killing and being killed.

But for a Hunter, this went even farther. Iruka's blades were an extension of himself, his only ever reliable allies in a world full of treachery, blood and deception -- a world he had for the most part woven himself with his lies.

It was somewhat pathetic, and very telling, Iruka mused, for him to have but two swords -- graceful instruments of death and destruction -- to call his friends.

He placed Tsume against the wall, his light mood evaporating.

"Handy," commented Kakashi. "Thanks."

Iruka paled.

"You copied it," he said in a small voice. "You fucking copied it."

"Yes, well," rejoined Kakashi, shrugging, "It's not like I could help it."

"This is a Hunter jutsu. You're not supposed to know it."

Iruka looked so distressed it was almost funny, Kakashi thought. How could someone be so experienced and sweet at the same time?

"I promise not to use it in front of anyone," he said solemnly, a smile tugging at his lips.

Iruka stared at him a moment longer, before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"You're making fun of me again, aren't you?" he said without resentment.

Kakashi smiled at him then, that infuriating, placid smile of his -- but, for some reason, Iruka could not bring himself to be mad. Kakashi's gaze shifted from the hunter to the blade he held in his hand.

"May I?" he asked simply. He wanted to see for himself -- on what he thought to be a vaguely masochistic, childish whim - the swords that had very nearly beheaded him the night before.

Iruka looked faintly startled by the bold request. But then, Kakashi was the first ninja beside Iruka himself to have ever dared to touch Tsume or Kiba ... even if that was only to carry them back to his house.

"Sure, go ahead," he replied, handing the leather scabbard to the older man.

Kakashi unsheathed the sword. Kiba gleamed in the sunlight, the warm blaze of the blade very far from the pale glint it was graced with under the stars. It seemed somehow less threatening.

It was truly a work of art, the Jounin mused. He weighted it experimentally, awed at the feeling of perfect balance the blade seemed to possess.

Kiba cut through the air neatly as Kakashi mock fenced a few steps. The Jounin was disagreeably surprised to find his motions rather inelegant and almost off-balance. He frowned.

"No," said Iruka unexpectedly, "Not that way. You're wielding it like a katana."

He stepped closer.

"I know," the hunter offered with a sympathetic grin.

"It was the same for me at first. Kodachis are shorter and lighter than katana, so their gravity center is completely different." He placed his hands over Kakashi's, unconsciously moving to stand between the Jounin's arms. Guiding Kakashi's motions, they assumed a simple attack stance. "You're used to power fights, that's why you were slightly off-thrown. You should grip it lower, so as to swing it more easily; and put less power in your move."

"Yes, sensei," Kakashi said good-naturedly -- though inwardly he found it rather funny that Iruka of all people - whom Kakashi had until recently thought could not wield a katana to save his life -- would give _him_, a Jounin and ANBU, Kenjutsu advice...

Iruka had the grace to blush.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I didn't mean to sound patronizing."

"It's okay," Kakashi whispered, nuzzling the nape of his neck. "I like your stern teacher persona."

The young man quickly wriggled out of Kakashi's arms and turned away.

"Look at me," said Kakashi suddenly, frowning.

Iruka refused stubbornly to meet his eye and busied himself with sheathing back the sword.

"Look at me," he repeated.

"Thank you very much for your help. I'll be going now," Iruka replied smoothly, without so much as a backward glance. He grabbed both his swords, and moved to get his clothes, hanging on a nearby wooden chair.

"Iruka."

Kakashi's deep voice stopped him dead in his tracks. Iruka tensed, his sore muscles stiffening in anticipation.

"Why are you running away?" came the soft question.

"I am not!" Iruka shot back hotly, whirling around -- just as Kakashi had expected he would.

Sometimes Iruka was so clueless, so predictable it was almost ludicrous -- if downright adorable. Had Kakashi not faced him in a sword fight before -- and _lost_ -- he might have had trouble believing this nervous, troubled young man was the same feared Hunter who could probably wipe the floor with most of Konoha's ninjas, himself included -- and with a hand tied behind his back, to boot.

_Who are you, Iruka? Do you even know it yourself?_

"Are too," replied Kakashi placidly.

"Why would I?" huffed the hunter, insulted. He crossed his arms on his chest defensively.

Kakashi eyed him without enthusiasm, a thoughtful frown marring his handsome features.

"Because you're scared. The truth is, you're completely freaking out," he pointed out dryly.

"Nonsense," said the hunter, trying to keep his voice steady, but inwardly fuming and wanting out, quick, before he got into a splendid display of his self-control where Kakashi was concerned -- or lack thereof.

"I'll be blunt, because it's obvious you're not going to listen otherwise. I like you. I want you. And I'm pretty confident that you like me back -- unless you're going to try and deny it?"

Iruka tried to, honestly he did, but words simply refused to leave his mouth. He was blushing hard, heart hammering in his chest, and to his utter embarrassment, he was shaking a little.

Kakashi's words echoed in his mind.

_I like you._

_I want you._

It shouldn't have mattered, but it did -- and there was absolutely nothing Iruka could do about that.

"Glad to see we agree on something," continued the Jounin. "Now tell me. What is holding you back? What are you afraid of? And don't give me any of that hunter crap," he added wryly as Iruka opened his mouth to answer.

"It's not crap," shot back said hunter, looking distinctly vexed. "My status ..."

Kakashi looked bored.

"Will you stop hiding behind your title?"

"_Me_, hiding? That's rich, coming from a man who keeps his face covered most of the time!" cried Iruka, outraged.

"Right now I'm not the one wearing a mask," replied Kakashi without missing a beat.

Iruka flinched as if he had been slapped. He gritted in teeth in sudden, frustrated anger.

"You think you're so wise," he spat bitterly. "You think you know everything about me -- that you've figured me out..."

"Wrong. That's one of the things that I like most about you -- I never know what to expect. That, and your eyes, of course."

The dark-haired ninja shot him a dirty look, his fists tightening in obvious annoyance.

"Could you try and be serious for once?"

Kakashi had a small smile, tired and yet sincere.

"I am completely serious," he said simply, and he meant it.

Their gazes locked in a contest of will for a few seconds.

Iruka was the first to look away, his shoulders sagging as he let out a weary sigh. He felt completely foolish and just a little hurt -- though he did not know exactly why.

"I'm tired," he murmured to no one in particular.

Kakashi hesitated, then made up his mind. He stepped closer to Iruka and put his arms around him in what he hoped was a comforting embrace. The younger man, shocked, stiffened at first but made no move to remove himself from the slightly awkward hug.

"Relax," whispered the Jounin against the top of his head, "you're so tense you look like you're going to snap anytime. You don't have to be strong all the time, you know," he added as an afterthought.

Iruka had a shaky laugh.

"If I am not strong, no one will be for me."

"I would," Kakashi replied on impulse.

He shivered when Iruka lifted his head to look at him, his eyes very dark and very old, and completely out of place in that young, soft face.

"Why?" asked the hunter simply. Almost curious.

Kakashi did not answer. He simply stared at the younger man, feeling vaguely, inexplicably sad.

"Why?" insisted Iruka. "Why bother?"

"You really have no idea," realized the Jounin in slight awe, "what a precious person you are. Not Kurohyou," he added as Iruka's brow furrowed, "Just you, Umino Iruka -- Academy teacher and coffee addict extraordinaire."

Iruka turned an interesting shade of crimson.

"Stop teasing me already!"

Kakashi gazed at him pensively, before tilting Iruka's chin up with a finger. He then ran both hands through the hunter's thick mane of dark hair. Iruka squeezed his eyes shut, blushing profusely.

"Kakashi-sensei ..." said Iruka, warningly.

"Are you going to kick me again?" Kakashi cut in half-seriously.

"Maybe," breathed Iruka, his voice strangely altered. He opened his eyes. "Are you willing to take the risk?"

He did not mean just the potential kick Kakashi might receive.

"Hell, yes," replied the Jounin calmly. "It's worth it ..."

Iruka wasn't convinced, and was about to say so, but then Kakashi's lips were on his own, firm and warm and a little chapped, and he forgot what he would rather have said.

Kakashi pulled back after a few seconds.

"You did not kick me," he stated, looking ridiculously smug.

"You call that a kiss?" shot back Iruka, not missing a beat. "I..."

He was cut off again as Kakashi slammed his mouth against his own, his tongue sliding between Iruka's parted lips. The Jounin crushed him against his chest, hands still lost in the hunter's dark locks. As Kakashi began acquainting himself with the insides of his mouth, Iruka wondered, idly, whether the older man had a fascination with his hair. He remained completely still, losing himself into Kakashi -- his taste, his smell, his skin -- and _gods_, but it felt good ...

"Why did you stop?" asked Iruka, breathless and confused as Kakashi pulled back again.

The Jounin raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you were not exactly responding."

"Sorry about that," Iruka mumbled sheepishly. "I just got, err ... carried away?"

Kakashi laughed -- and there was mirth in his eyes, simple and childlike, as he leaned forward again and ...

... stopped millimeters from Iruka's lips.

"Tease," murmured the hunter huskily, heart hammering in his chest. "Kiss me ..."

This was probably the sexiest thing Kakashi had ever been told, and he was very happy to oblige. He smiled delightedly when he felt Iruka responding at last. Damn, but that kid knew some tricks, the Jounin thought as he let out a soft gasp -- Iruka nibbling playfully on his bottom lip.

And then, Iruka raised himself on his tiptoes, took Kakashi's bushy head between his hands, and kissed him soundly. Kakashi brought his arms around Iruka's waist -- one hand straying lower, cupping the smaller man's bottom appreciatively. Iruka retaliated by deepening the kiss, which did not displease the Jounin in the least.

They remained locked in a passionate embrace during long minutes, moaning and pressing against the other, until Iruka stiffened all of a sudden and wrenched himself from Kakashi's grasp with a cry of pain.

The dark-haired ninja clutched at his left arm in helpless, abject distress, and squeezed his eyes shut to try and control the overwhelming sensation.

"Wha..?" said the Jounin, puzzled. "Your wound?"

"No," the Hunter replied through gritted teeth, "I am being summoned."

* * *

Feedback welcome.  



	7. TSB6: Gathering of The Storm

**The Silent Blade: Hunter**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:**  
**Category:** Action/Adventure/Romance  
**Keywords:** Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary:** The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. (Book 1, KakaIru) Edited version  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes: **I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers. Yummy.

* * *

Glossary

_Wattou_: long battle katana, usually greater than 30 inches in length.  
_Okashira_: Leader. ("Leader of a shady underworld group of questionable morals", dixit my darling Chibi Risu-chan)  
_Ninpo Kuchiyose_: Summoning technique.  
_Shunsoku No Jutsu_: Fleetpaw Skill. (Literally, _Shunsoku_: Fast runner)  
_Hime_: Princess.

**Chapter 6:** **Gathering of the Storm**

_Ours not to reason why  
Ours but to do and die._

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

§§§

Iruka lifted his hand, stifling a curse. The tattoo was glowing bright red and pulsing steadily.

"Blast," cursed the hunter. What, now?

Kakashi blinked. "That thing has the worst timing," he pointed out, humor battling over annoyance in his mismatched eyes.

Iruka did not answer -- he was too busy frowning. The summon had had the effect of a nasty cold shower on him, and now he wanted out, quick -- since he so obviously couldn't be trusted with himself.

He waited for the pain to recede with strained patience. Then, stiffening in disgust at his own rash actions, he turned away from Kakashi and donned his Hunter uniform as fast as he could manage. He buckled the leather straps of his scabbarded blades at their customary places, with an ease that told of years of practice. He looked around for his mask in growing dismay.

"Here," said a voice behind him, softly. He felt Kakashi's hands brush away stray locks from his eyes. In a careful, precise motion, the Jounin placed the porcelain mask over Iruka's face. He stood very close to the Hunter as he tied the leather straps into a secure knot -- close enough to feel the subtle change in Iruka's stance and mindset. The younger man had closed off completely, bringing all his former barriers back up and strengthening them.

Almost ... almost as if he had forgotten himself for a while, and had now decided not to make the same mistake twice.

It stung.

The Jounin took a step back as Kurohyou turned to face him, and met the dark masked gaze levelly. Weaponless, shivering in spite of the morning warmth, Kakashi felt naked and defenseless -- and rightly so. Yet he couldn't bring himself to be afraid. Kakashi had fought by Kurohyou's side countless times, had even sparred against him. He had seen the fury in his eyes, and the blood on his hand, and he had never run away.

But then, he guessed wryly, Iruka was probably scared enough for the both of them.

"Be on your guard, Kakashi-sensei," said Kurohyou curtly. "The ANBU might be summoned as well."

With that, and before the Jounin could even think up an appropriately witty retort, he vanished in a discreet shift of wind.

"Whatever," sighed Kakashi.

He ran a hand over his face, not even bothering to suppress a vaguely exhausted yawn. Now, to find some coffee ...

§§§

Not bothering with any more concealment jutsus than were strictly necessary, Iruka made his way noiselessly toward Konoha No Dairi, leaping through the air with seemingly effortless grace. He tried to clear his mind of any unwelcomed distractions -- namely the shrewd spark in a haunting set of mismatched eyes. 

The sheer nerve of that man, he thought furiously -- but his own voice, thick with desire, echoed without mercy in his mind.

_Tease ..._

Iruka blushed under his mask in silent, searing embarrassment.

_Kiss me ..._

So maybe Kakashi wasn't the only one responsible for this ... irrational, foolish behavior.

_But you liked it_, whispered the more straightforward of his brain. _Admit it_.

Honestly, what had he been thinking? A fine Hunter, indeed, that let himself be driven by primal instinct, his judgment clouded by lust and his defenses down!

What if Kakashi disclosed his secret? What if he used it against him?

He wouldn't! Impossible.

... Would he?

Iruka wanted to trust Kakashi -- no, he _needed _it. There had been truth in the Jounin's eyes, even as they were darkened with desire. The young man had a feeling that Kakashi was probably one of the most honest ninjas he had ever met -- in his own personal, slightly twisted way.

The Hunter prided himself on being straightforward and frank -- with himself if not with the others. But this one question, the real question that filled him with dread, Iruka almost dared not face. The very idea sent a violent shiver up his spine.

What if Kakashi was not playing?

Iruka did not know if he actually _wanted_ the older man to take him seriously. Lust was a powerful energy, but it was very different from love. Love often brought lust, Iruka had been told -- but he knew firsthand that the reverse wasn't always true.

The Hunter's eyes narrowed. He wondered, idly, what exactly Kakashi wanted from him. His body?

Iruka did not consider himself to be either handsome or ugly -- more like an in-between of sorts. But he had seen Kakashi's eyes roaming over his body, discreetly assessing his face, and maybe more than that. He knew the Jounin desired him -- that much he could tell.

Then what?

What was Iruka willing to give, to risk, to share of himself?

More than any blade in the world, Iruka feared the answer -- for he knew, deep inside, what he wanted, what he craved. Iruka allowed himself a wan, wry smile as he walked down the palace's hallways to Tsunade-sama's office. The undefeated, feared Hunter brought down by his own doubts and insecurities -- the irony of the situation did not escape Iruka's keen sense of humor.

His mood darkened considerably, however, as he suddenly detected the presence of his colleagues nearby -- all four of them. For the five Hunters to be summoned at this hour ...

The young man frowned slightly as he pushed open the wooden door.

"Ah, Kurohyou-san," said a brown-clad ninja, nodding in respect. Towering over seven foot tall, leaning on his heavy wattou, Kuma spoke in a low, throaty voice - as gruff and rough as his namesake was rumored to be. Like Byakko and Yamainu, the Brown Bear had completely forsaken his former identity, cutting off all ties with his previous life -- name and family included.

Leading a double-life was a tricky business for any ninja, and a life style few Hunters could afford to choose, for it was both dangerous and needlessly exhausting. Iruka and Washi were of those who chose to retain their identities -- but for the most part, Hunters were Hunters, and nothing more.

"You are late," declared Washi, curt and dry as was customary for him. He stood near the window, his stance stiff and overly formal but not aggressive. He kept glancing longingly at the sky. The sun played on the golden brown fabric of his Hunter uniform.

Iruka averted his eyes. It would be a radiant day, but it did not look like he'd have any time to enjoy it.

"I was delayed," Kurohyou shot back, his tone coldly dismissive.

Tsunade quirked a curious eyebrow.

"I wonder why," she murmured.

Iruka refused to raise to the bait - silently thanking all his years as an Academy teacher to have earned him a very thick layer of patience.

"I'm afraid you'll have to keep wondering," he replied blandly. "Now, tell me. What matter could be urgent enough to bring us all in the same room -- and Hokage-sama out of her bed -- at such ungodly hour?"

"Spies," cut in Byakko matter-of-factly. She had been standing by Tsunade-sama's desk when Iruka had made his entrance, but had slowly edged closer to Washi the moment she had spotted him. Iruka noticed it, but shrugged it off as a feminine whim.

He cocked his head to the side questioningly.

"Explain," he said.

"Spies from the Mist," elaborated the the young woman, "Or so we believe."

"The so-called missing-nin you killed two days ago was actually one of them," interrupted Yamainu brusquely, almost bristling. The stark sunlight of late spring gave the crimson of his uniform an almost bloody hue. It suited him well, Iruka thought, what with his particular taste for action and fight. Pursing his lips in slight distaste, he made a mental note to assign him more dangerous missions -- Iruka knew from experience that it would abate his bloodlust in no time.

"Scouting the area, probably," muttered Iruka, annoyed in spite of himself. "What else?"

"Squad 3 reports sighting a score of them, about ten miles North-northeast of the village," continued Byakko calmly. "And half a dozen to the East."

"What are your orders, Kurohyou-san?" asked Washi.

Iruka crossed his arms on his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, already mentally drafting their next course of action.

"Washi," he began, "Take Squad 2 with you, and follow the Eastern track."

"Right away," the other answered. Then, with a polite half-bow, he disappeared.

"Yamainu, Kuma," Iruka continued, "Be on your guard. Godaime-sama's security remains your top priority, whatever happens. Clear?"

"Yes, Okashira," they replied in perfect unison.

"Byakko," Iruka said at last, turning to face the young woman, "I need you to scout the Southern and Western area. Take Squad 7 with you."

"As you command, Okashira."

"And you?" questioned Tsunade, "What do you plan on doing?"

"Follow the Northern track," he replied simply, a note a weariness creeping into his voice. "I'll need Squads 4 and 9," he added a heartbeat later.

"Granted."

Iruka found his eyes shifting almost of their own volition from the Hokage onto Byakko.

His relationship with the young woman after their breakup had always been strained at best, while never openly hostile. When she had taken on her Hunter name, Iria had seemingly gone through a comprehensive personality makeover. Gone was the calm, mild-mannered young girl he had, if not loved, at least held dear. Iria had completely merged with Byakko, to the detriment of both -- at least in Iruka's slightly biased opinion.

Iruka did not find that very healthy. In all honesty, he probably wouldn't have made it this far had he given up any semblance of a normal life. Most Hunters died within four years -- Iruka and Byakko held the absolute record with nine years of service. In almost a decade, Iruka had seen the vast majority his comrades fall in battle, one after the other. Of the team he had joined as a teenager, under Karasu-sensei, remained but Byakko and himself.

It was a running joke of sorts in the village -- those who joined the Hunters had probably either a death wish or a very mean spouse.

The Hunters themselves did not deny, but did not laugh, either. It hit a little too close from home for comfort, Iruka guessed wryly.

But, no matter how hard it was sometimes, Umino Iruka played the part of Kurohyou the Hunter -- not the other way around.

Iruka did not -- _could _not -- agree with his colleagues' life choices. They had shed their former existences like a snake an old, dry skin - forgetting themselves, but also what they were meant to protect. Their training, their power, their weapons -- their sole purpose was to kill, and that was the way Hunters were meant to be. But it was also all in the name and for the sake of something more important, more precious -- their village, and the people who dwelled in it.

The five Hunters were bound by a pledge -- an oath as ancient as Konoha itself, the magic of which resided in their tattoos. To break it was the most repulsive act to any Hunters' eyes. Only one Hunter had ever dared to -- and once Iruka got his paws on him, he would make him pay for the dishonor he had brought upon both their order and the village.

That, and other, more personal considerations.

"Kurohyou-san," cut in the unmistakable musical timbre of the White Fox, polite and clipped as usual.

Iruka realized he had been staring.

"What?" he answered, more sharply than he had intended.

She did not answer. As her eyes settled on Kurohyou's mask, something shifted between them, a subtle change that did not escape Iruka. There was anger, a cold scornful wrath that laced her very composure and flared suddenly as they engaged in a staring contest.

What he read -- or rather, what he could not read -- in Byakko's stance as she stood straight and formal before him twisted something painfully in his gut. Iruka barely managed to suppress a shiver. He looked at her intently, probing - something was off, but he couldn't pinpoint what.

Iruka was shaken, though outwardly he let nothing show. He held her gaze levelly until she gave in and looked away. The moment passed, the tension between them seemed to wane -- but Iruka could not help the faint, distinct feeling of queasiness that settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Get going, Hunter," snapped Iruka irritably.

"Very well," Byakko replied at once, "Okashira."

Her voice was back to her usual calm tones, but Iruka could have sworn he saw her eyes flashing in annoyance under the mask.

She vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Kurohyou to stare thoughtfully after her.

"What was this all about?" questioned Tsunade, frowning. She, too, had felt the rising animosity between the two Hunters. It disturbed her greatly -- Konoha could not afford to be weakened by internal quarrels.

"I wish I knew," murmured the young man.

§§§

Iruka was not amused. 

After two hours spent scouting a very, very wide area North of Konoha, they should have found _something_. But they hadn't, and Iruka was beginning to feel quite aggravated -- especially as the grim sense of foreboding nested in his gut stubbornly refused to leave him.

A graceful shadow in the thick foliage, the Hunter let himself slide down the branch he had been crouching on. He landed on the dusty ground almost noiselessly. Nearby, the two ANBU squads were awaiting his orders, clearly as frustrated as he himself was. Iruka's gaze rested a second too long on one of them, a tall ninja with a startling shock of silver hair.

_Kakashi-sensei ..._

The young man had to make a decision. Unconsciously, he clenched his fists. That was what he missed the most about being a Genin, or even a Chuunin -- the lack of someone to rely on, someone who would step up and take charge if things went awry.

This was Kurohyou's part to play now. Nobody would catch him if he fell - this was a both exhilarating and terrifying thought. Part of him, if he was honest with himself, relished in it -- a born leader, Iruka possessed both natural authority and desire to command, his unconscious charisma only adding to his aura. Yet the young man refused to delude himself: any order he gave could have dire consequences, lead one of his ninjas to his or her death, or endanger the village -- a knowledge, a burden the hunter often lost sleep over.

_A distracted leader endangers the lives of his troops ..._

Shaking off his somber musings, he decided to follow his instinct.

"Squad 4," Iruka said, in a commanding tone, "You are to report back to Konoha at once."

"What?" came the immediate, indignant reply. _Kurenai-san._

Kakashi simply stared hard at him. Or at least, Iruka thought he did -- it was hard to tell through both masks.

"You are to report back to Konoha," Iruka repeated, shaking off impromptu Kakashi-related musings. "Code Blue, Level Alert I."

Two of the younger ANBU gasped and took a step forward.

_Don't want to miss the fun, do they?_ Iruka thought, rather sardonically.

"But, Kurohyou-sama ..." protested the smaller, black-haired one -- Fukaba Yori, the newest addition to Squad 4, a rookie under Kurenai's tutelage if he remembered correctly.

"Let's go, Squad," Kurenai cut in with a nod in Kurohyou's general direction, her voice gentle but firm all the same. Her squad gathered around her -- Kakashi, Yori, and two others Iruka did not recognize. They faded from view in a puff of smoke.

The hunter heaved a weary sigh. Kurenai-san had not protested, of course, but he had heard her silent question all the same. He sincerely hoped he was just being overly pessimistic as usual.

Iruka shifted self-consciously under the remaining squad's gaze. Dead ends made him uncomfortable -- as the young man resolved issues by tackling them. Twenty ninjas, however skilled, could not have simply vanished into thin air. Unless ...

The hunter squashed down such a disquieting possibility, more bothered than he cared to admit by his train of thought. There had to be a way to track them down, well concealed or not. Hit by a sudden stroke of brilliance, the Hunter permitted himself a small smile under his mask.

With his left hand, Iruka reached for his right armguard, and took out one of his kunai. The razor-edged weapon glinted in the sunlight as he drew it across the tips of two of his fingers. Blood pearled on the pale, callused skin.

With the ease of habit, Iruka traced the familiar kanji patterns of the blood contract, first over his Hunter tattoo, then over his palm. He clasped his hands together, formed a few handseals -- Tiger, Snake, Dragon, Tiger -- and closed his eyes.

"Ninpo Kuchiyose," he breathed, feeling power surge through him, "Futon, Shunsoku No Jutsu!"

The sudden gust of wind raised a small whirlwind of dust. The air seemed to shimmer in front of Iruka, before it materialized into the harmonious lines of a feline silhouette. The animal stretched lazily and sat up with slow, graceful motions. Flat, wiry muscles rippled under the creamy fur. The dark forehead protector she wore loosely around her neck was branded with Iruka's personal mark, the same design as his Hunter tattoo.

The cougar eyed Iruka without enthusiasm.

"What did you wake me up for?" she asked, wary and faintly rueful. "I need my beauty sleep, you know ..."

"Hime," scolded Iruka, frowning.

"Ah," she said, her features twisting into the feline equivalent of a pout, "You're no fun, as usual."

The smirking face of the Hokage flashed in Iruka's mind, and he bit back a snort.

"That I have been told," he admitted, a note of amusement creeping into his voice. "But I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with your antics right now."

The cougar seemed to consider that, grooming herself behind the ears with a her pristinely bandaged paw.

"What ... do you want ... of me ... then?" Hime asked between licks, darting him a wary glance.

"Sniff around and tell me what you smell."

She huffed haughtily, flicking her tail in catty distaste.

"Azide from human ztench, you mean?" she said, in a tone obviously meant to be aloof. Of course, the effect was rather ruined by the hairs-induced lisp. She leapt into a nearby tree with indolent grace and disappeared into the verdure. Iruka was positive he heard her mutter something affronted about "pitiless Hunters" and "mongrel's job".

Hime was probably the laziest, most fastidious and ladylike nin-cat to have ever dwelled in the Fire Country -- and of course, fate being known for its downright twisted sense of humor, Iruka had ended up stuck with her. But in spite of her flaws, she was a seasoned tracker, a fairly good fighter and an even better friend, so he guessed that evened things out a little.

She sauntered back to them after a few minutes, springing from branch to branch with an impressive economy of motion and landing elegantly before him -- Iruka in all honesty suspected her to be plainly showing off before Squad 9.

_Cats will be cats, there's no helping it_, he thought, resigned.

"So? What have you found?" the hunter asked, growing impatient. _What a waste of time!_

Hime had a chagrined, faintly perturbed air about her -- almost as if she was loath to answer.

"There's a track, thirty or forty feet ahead," she replied slowly. "But ..."

"But?" probed Iruka. The oppressing feeling in his gut intensified.

"It's at least a week old," she commented evenly, stubbornly refusing to meet his eye.

The young man could have sworn she wasn't telling him everything.

"Very well," Kurohyou sighed, knowing he wouldn't get anything else out of her. "Lead the way, Hime-neesan."

The cougar set off along the dusty path, speeding up once she sensed them following her -- completely unlike her usual leisurely pace. From time to time, she stopped to make sure she had not lost them -- and that, too, was so out of character it sent Iruka's mental alarms completely haywire.

Hime turned sharply to the right and left the trail after a while. She led them through a dark, moldy thicket -- Iruka managed to slither through the wild underbrush best he could, but had to turn back and slash the way open for Squad 9 who lagged grimly behind. The Hunter was growing more agitated by the second -- this forest made him feel trapped and caged, and he hated that.

He stiffened suddenly as he caught, under the pungent musty smell, the unmistakable odor of decay.

The vegetation opened suddenly on a clearing of sorts. The trees were scarcer and younger, but recent gashes crisscrossed the bark. As Iruka looked up mechanically, he caught a glimpse of the clear blue sky overhead, striking a stark contrast with the dead leaves scattered on the dry, yellow grass.

For the forest to be so devastated in late spring ...

The Hunter swallowed audibly.

He stopped frozen in his tracks. That was when he noticed the flies.

A cloud of dark blue, stout-bodied flies swarming over ...

And the stench ...

Iruka's stomach heaved painfully -- it was all the young man could do not to retch. He took a shaky step back, his back hitting the trunk of an elm tree. His hand reached out automatically, found the lacerated bark and gripped it.

He bowed his head.

Looking absolutely revolted, Hime sat down on her haunches next to him.

"I feared it was so," she murmured, whiskers quivering in silent outrage.

A few feet ahead, in a pool of crusty crimson blood, lay the rotting, battered remains of what used to be Byakko the White Fox.

* * *

Feeback welcome!  



	8. TSB7: Slow Burn

**The Silent Blade: Hunter  
**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)aol(dot)com  
**Category:** Action/Adventure/Romance  
**Keywords:** Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary:** The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. (Book 1, KakaIru)  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes: **I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers. Yummy.

* * *

Glossary

_Hakaze: _Breeze rustling through leaves.  
_Kagami_: Mirror.  
_Shoushin No Jutsu: _Jutsu of Combustion.  
_Sanshouuo_: Salamander.  
_Yuuhei No Jutsu:_ Jutsu of Imprisonment.

**Chapter 7:** **Slow Burn**

_Where life is more terrible than death, it is then the truest valor to dare to live.  
__  
_- Thomas Browne

§§§

Iruka averted his eyes, heart gripped by an all too familiar pain. Next to him, Hime shifted uncomfortably and butted her head into the Hunter's limp palm, soft fur rubbing against hardened leather --- trying, however awkwardly, to offer him a measure of comfort.

Behind them, Squad 9 had stilled, frozen in mute horror. Iruka did not have to turn around to feel their eyes riveted on Byakko's mutilated, decaying corpse. One ANBU could take it no longer, and made a precipitated dash to a nearby bush, falling to his knees and wrenching the mask from his face. The disgusting sound and stench of retching filled the air, and incidentally Iruka's nostrils.

The Hunter forcefully pushed himself away from the tree, willing himself to stop shaking. Clammy, salty beads of sweat rolled down his face under the mask. His eyes stung. He blinked.

Swaying a little on his feet, Iruka wobbled his way to Iria --- the _corpse_, he corrected hastily, throat burning and very tight. Under the soles of his boots, the dry blades of grass crunched and crumbled. He kneeled down, his motions shaky and graceless.

Feeling outrageously numb, he noticed Byakko's porcelain mask lying a few feet away. Under the thick crust of blood, a trained eye could still distinguish the blue and gold paint, a little faded with time and abuse.

Iruka reached across the body, stretching the taut, faintly protesting muscles of his left arm. Blue-winged flies buzzed past his ear. He gritted his teeth, grabbed the offending item, and retreated quickly. The fox mask felt unnaturally heavy in his palm, eerily cold against his fingertips. The small cut on his forefinger reopened. The Hunter watched in morbid fascination his blood mixing with what he suspected was mostly Byakko's, and partly her murderer's.

His gaze shifted onto Iria. His hand reached out, almost of its own volition, a fleeting caress against the rotting cheek. He shivered in involuntary disgust at the revolting contact, and snatched his hand back hastily. Iruka sucked in a painful breath, and his vision blurred as angry, hot tears welled up in his dark eyes. He bit them back savagely. The action drew blood from his bottom lip, and he almost welcomed the coppery tang invading his mouth.

"I am sorry for your loss, little brother," said a voice behind him, almost a whisper. _Hime-neesan,_ he thought, startled back to reality. He turned to her, dazed with pain.

Hime gazed up at him, her feline face an almost perfect mask of neutrality. But Iruka knew her well enough to see past the facade, and behind the closed expression he could read genuine grief. Even after five centuries of existence, and thousands of kills, the planar had never lost the touching, disarming --- and so very humane --- sensibility that Iruka treasured in her. They were well matched, Hunter and cougar, more than both cared to admit.

"I wish we could give her proper burial," continued the cougar, as delicately as she could manage, "But Konoha needs us right now."

There was a hint of steel under the softness of her voice, a subtle edge that did not escape Iruka.

Losing Iria this way was a crushing blow, especially after their quarrel earlier this morning ...

_No_, came Iruka's sudden, grim thought. He eyed the reeking corpse and frowned. _She was already dead this morning ..._

It was not the first time he had to bury a friend. For even though they had drifted apart, Iria had always kept a special place in Iruka's heart, and it was only now, ravaged with grief, that Iruka did realize the extent of his loss. He had lost her long before she died --- he would not make such a mistake twice.

The young man swallowed audibly. He wished, suddenly, absurdly, that Kakashi was there. He would bury his face in warm skin, where neck and shoulder met, andforget everything, forget this world of pain and death When Kakashi's arms closed around him, Iruka felt he had the right, just for a little while, to be human and everything that went with the title. He had the right to be weak. He had the right to be so scared it actually hurt. Kakashi understood the sorrow, the grief, the overwhelming anger. He had fought, and been hurt; he had killed, and had lost; he had loved, and hated --- he had not told him, of course, but not all scars were visible, Iruka knew better than anyone.

_Kakashi_ _said he'd be strong for me ..._

The Hunter squashed down the thought irritably, enraged by his own neediness. Kakashi was not there, and even if he had been, Iruka mused bleakly, it would not have changed a thing --- merely made matters even more complicated. Iruka's heart tightened with worry at the danger the Jounin could be facing. Kurohyou, however, did not regret his decision to send Team 4 back to Konoha --- if his suspicion was confirmed, they would be sorely needed.

Behind him, he heard Squad 9 shift uncomfortably, wrenching him from his thoughts. They were expecting him to take charge and issue orders. They were waiting for their leader to act and reassure _them_. The realization jolted him back to reality.

"Little brother," probed Hime --- he could hear the growing insistence in her voice.

Wordlessly, Iruka bent forward to place the mask back on Byakko's pain distorted features. He would have liked to close her eyes, but the worms had already taken care of what should have been her eyelids. The blue, glassy pupils stared unseeingly into the endless depths of skies and death.

_What did you see, Iria?_

He then attempted to straighten the corpse, without much success --- _rigor mortis_ was already well settled in. A gloved fist entered his field of vision, and he very nearly started backward and attacked, before he recognized the familiar aura. Iruka counted four kunais in its grasp. He looked up into the masked face of one of the more seasoned ANBU --- Shosawa Isamu, Iruka surmised, the patch of dirty blond hair unmistakable.

"Here," Isamu offered.

The Hunter stared back at him for a little while, puzzled.

"So you can burn her," the man specified, patiently. "Kurohyou-sama."

Iruka nodded in sudden realization and overwhelming gratitude.

"Thanks," he managed to croak out, his voice tight and hoarse with repressed grief. He felt absurdly proud not to hear his voice cracking. His fingers clenched around the two kunais in a painful, irrationally hard grip.

Isamu had kept the two others; he embedded them into the dry, mud caked ground, one at Byakko's feet, the other on her left flank. Iruka mimicked his actions without a word --- one above her head, the other on her right side. He watched as the ANBU took a step back, brought two of his fingers to his forehead, and bowed in respect.

The Hunter got up from his squatting position, his movements regaining some of their usual grace as he struggled to compose himself and smooth down the tumultuous flow of emotions he could not afford to drown in.

Iruka stared hard at the decaying corpse at his feet. His gloved hands flowed through the complex motions of the spell, shaping and molding chakra to his will. One after the other, the kunais began to glow with an eerie, almost painfully white glint. Once the protective barrier was firmly set in place, Iruka took a small step back and began forming handseals in quick succession.

"Shoushin No Jutsu," he invoked, his voice almost flawlessly even.

Byakko's corpse burst into flames. The chakra wall shimmered, and for a fleeting moment the Hunter feared it wouldn't be able to contain the blaze. Then the fire receded a little, and Iruka heaved an involuntary, almost imperceptible sigh of relief.

Iruka went down to one knee, the desiccated grass crumbling under his weight, and pulled out Kiba in one fluid motion. He fumbled to remove his left glove. He drew the razor-sharp blade across his palm, flinching at the sudden, vicious onslaught of pain. He clenched his fist tightly, blood splattering on the ground. The stench of charred human flesh nearly made him gag.

"On my blood, sister," he breathed, his voice a fierce, husky whisper. "On my blood."

The Hunter felt fury surging through him, fast, savage, scalding. He was not allowed to grieve --- but he could be angry.

Oh, yes.

He got up, whirling around when a sudden movement, at the edge of his field of vision, caught his attention.

Isamu dangled a patch of rough linen, tattered but clean, in front of him. His handkerchief, Iruka noted, feeling numb. He accepted it with yet another grateful nod --- words seemed to have left him. He removed the blood off Kiba with it, before sheathing the blade. He then tied the cloth around his palm with a stifled hiss of pain, and put on his discarded leather glove.

"Squad," he said, "Get moving."

The Hunter turned away and began to run, never once looking back, Hime trailing after him.

In the clearing, the smoke rose up above the ravaged trees in dark, heavy curls, as the impromptu funeral pyre reduced to ashes yet another part of Iruka's heart.

§§§

As Kurohyou and Squad 9 made their way back to Konoha at top speed, leaping from tree to tree like silent shadows, Iruka's mind wandered back to his earlier musings. He kept turning over in his head Hime's cryptic parting words. When he had attempted to dismiss her, after they had left the clearing, she had requested that he should let her stay in the material plane for a while --- which was completely unlike her, considering her developed taste for procrastination and catnaps.

"Konoha has many foes," she had said, "And so do you. Beware the slithering danger from your past, little brother, and heed my words: nobody can catch the wind, for nobody can predict the unpredictable. I shall say no more."

When Iruka had opened his mouth in query, she had leapt onto a nearby branch, her claws scraping the rough bark, before she had added as an afterthought, her voice softening just a little: "Good luck, my friend."

Then she had disappeared into the thick, green foliage, leaving him alone with his questions and his growing doubts.

He knew she had wanted to tell him more --- but she had already greatly encroached on her prerogatives by sharing her insight with a plane-bound mortal.

Planars were not tied to a specific place or era, for their innate nature was that of the essence of life itself. The very concepts of life and death were known to them, but did not affect or govern their own existence; nor did time and space, for that matter. Should a planar die in the material world, they would simply go back to their original plane of existence to heal their wounds and regenerate their spiritual energy, while awaiting the next summon of their chosen masters.

As such, their grasp of both past and future was almost polar to that of humans. Where the human mind conceived time as linear and irreversible, planars like Hime saw a fourth dimension, one that twisted and wound around the different planes they were free to roam in.

Her words, however curt, were a precious gift and he accepted it as such, with heartfelt gratitude. But they had done nothing to alleviate his doubts, or the worry gnawing at his heart.

Something was eluding him, and he hated that.

Byakko had been a particularly skilled Hunter --- one did not survive nine years in their field of work by simply being competent. Iruka had no doubt she had been taken by surprise --- she would never have willingly engaged in a fight with such a unfavorable parameters otherwise. She must not have been able to escape, or choose a more favorable setting. The image of Iria trapped like a helpless, wounded fox at the end of the hunt brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Byakko had never been anyone's prey, only second in abilities, power and sheer stubbornness to Kurohyou himself. Whoever had brought her down was an opponent to be reckoned with.

What disturbed him the most, however, was the ease with which the killer had managed to deceive them all --- including Iruka, who used to know Iria better than anyone.

Imitating her habits, memorizing her speech pattern, and replicating her aura to perfection --- the impostor must have worked closely with her to gain such personal knowledge. An ANBU or a Hunter, then, or at least someone from Konoha, which meant ...

_Betrayal_, whispered his mind.

The very thought disturbed him more than he cared to admit, but Iruka had to bow to the evidence --- the fraud had achieved an almost flawless copy of Byakko the White Fox.

The Hunter froze inwardly, even though his motions remained assured and graceful, and showed nothing of it.

_A copy ..._

The Hunter squeezed his eyes shut and heaved a deep sigh. When he opened them again, there was grim resolve glinting in his gaze. He sped up his pace, hoping with all his heart, that he would not be too late this time.

§§§

As soon as Konoha entered his sight, Iruka knew that he had been right. Even from a distance, he could sense chakra activity --- far too much, even for a bustling ninja village. The Hunter wished he could run even faster, but parting from the ANBU would do no good. Biting his lip in anxiety, he veered to the east, Squad 9 following a little behind.

They crossed the wall as quickly as stealth permitted. Iruka's agitation grew with each step he took. All of his mental alarms went haywire, his carefully honed instincts screaming at him that something was indeed very wrong.

Suddenly, a kunai whizzed past his head mid-jump. He dodged effortlessly and drew out a shuriken, all the while trying to locate his opponent. He spotted him half a second later on a nearby roof. The weapon embedded itself neatly in his brow before the man had time to react, blood pearling on the tan skin. He disappeared in a puff of chakra smoke.

_A clone?_

Iruka blinked, feeling distinctly queasy. He gestured to the ANBU to follow him and they bounded forward across roofs. They headed for the center of the village in this fashion. From time to time, clones --- alone or in group --- would attack them. They were easily disposed of and hardly hindered their progression. Once they even caught real ninja among them --- Iruka toed the severed head around in disgust to try and identify him, in vain.

They all wore ninja headbands, on their foreheads or hanging around their neck.

All branded with the Sound's sigil.

_That does not make sense_, the Hunter thought furiously, _why would _he_ ally himself with the likes of Orochimaru?_

At the edge of his consciousness, he noticed a familiar aura about half a mile ahead. His heart leapt in his chest.

_Kurenai-san!_

Too impatient to merely jump his way to her, he hastily formed a few handseals.

"Report to the Hokage at once," Iruka ordered the ANBU before he vanished, "Be on your guard!"

When he appeared in front of Kurenai, the young woman jumped backward in surprise and let out a short gasp. Iruka held out a hand in appeasement and promptly took in his friend's disheveled, agitated countenance. Behind her stood Gai and Genma, who seemed to be holding something down; and several ANBU as well --- Squad 4, minus Kakashi, and Squad 1.

_Not _something_ --- someone_, Iruka corrected immediately._ Someone weeping ..._

"Byakko is dead," he informed them, as emotionlessly as he could manage, "We've been infiltrated."

"Thanks for telling us," Genma said, irony lacing his voice, "... would never have noticed otherwise."

Kurenai stood straighter. "Don't forget yourself, Genma-san!" she admonished him.

Faintly annoyed, Iruka disregarded the Jounin's blatant lack of respect. "Your point being?"

Genma shrugged and gestured vaguely at the pink-haired, shaking bundle Gai was vainly trying to comfort --- Iruka doubted manly tears and desperate oaths of revenge would be of any help soothing the poor thing.

The Hunter felt his insides constrict when he recognized her. _Sakura-kun_?

He took a few steps toward the young girl and stooped down in front of her on the cobbled ground, braced on one knee.

"Haruno-san," he said, unable to help the urgency in his voice. "Haruno-san, what happened?"

She looked up into his masked face then, and said nothing, tremors coursing through her body. She shook her head mutely.

"Don't bother," cut in Kurenai's soft timbre, "She is completely incoherent."

Iruka's eyes narrowed.

Hating himself, he raised his right hand and slapped Sakura twice, hoping the pain would jolt her back to reality. He heard the three Jounins stiffen behind him, but at the moment, he really could not care less.

The girl seemed more focused now, training progressively overtaking the shock. Sakura was a promising ninja, he knew, and would not have let herself be overcome by fear unless she had witnessed something truly horrible --- which accounted for Iruka's impatience. She glared at him, and the Hunter almost smiled under the mask. That was the reaction he had been hoping for.

"Tell me," he urged her, "tell me what happened."

Sakura swallowed audibly, trying to compose herself. She kept wringing her blood-covered hands nervously on her lap.

"We were all together," she began, "Sasuke-kun, Hinata-chan, and ... and Naruto."

Iruka bit his lip as anxiety flared through him.

_Naruto ..._

"We ... we were attacked," she continued, obviously forcing herself to report the way she had been taught to at the Academy. "They were three."

Sakura looked away, her voice but a shaky, hoarse whisper.

"One of them had the eyes of a devil," she murmured, "They burned ..."

The Hunter froze.

"The Sharingan?" he asked, gripping her shoulders and shaking her slightly. "That man, Haruno-san --- he had Sasuke's eyes, didn't he?"

The young girl acquiesced vaguely. "The eyes of a devil ... he burned Hinata-chan," she sobbed incoherently, clutching his wrists, "And he burned me, too ..."

"We found Hinata-san's ... remains ... not far from her," cut in Genma, his voice oddly thick.

"Naruto? Sasuke?" Iruka questioned urgently. "What about them, Haruno-san?"

Sakura turned around as much as her battered body could manage, and gestured toward the Hokage's palace. "Took them."

Iruka had heard enough. He got up quickly, inwardly boiling and yet feeling very cold. He understood now --- everything suddenly made sense, and the newfound knowledge was dizzying in its terrifying implications.

_The Village of Sound is not trying to invade Konoha_, came the brutal realization. _They are trying to buy themselves time --- and I'm afraid I know what for ..._

Iruka cursed under his breath --- with one Hunter down, two on body-guarding duty, and another away from the village, the cards certainly were not stacked in their favor.

"Kurohyou-sama?" Kurenai asked, uncertainty seeping through her voice. Genma and Gai turned to him as well, clearly awaiting his orders. For all his petulant behavior, Genma was a highly-skilled, trustworthy Jounin --- the Hunter had no doubt he would obey him whatever the cost. As for Kurenai and Gai, Iruka would have trusted them with his life.

"I want the Academy cleared and the children sheltered within ten minutes," he began, "Squad 1 --- you go and help the teachers."

They bowed curtly and disappeared without losing another second.

"You two," Iruka said, motioning at the remaining members of Squad 4, "Sound the alert."

"Yes sir!"

"As for you ... " Iruka began, turning to the three Jounins.

At that moment, a strong gust of wind interrupted him, raising dust and ruffling his dark hair. The Hunter reached for his weapons, stiffening in anticipation, before he recognized the golden-clad shape and the firm, assured aura of Washi. Two ANBU Squads materialized behind him.

"Washi," Iruka called out, voice warm with heartfelt gratitude. "How...?"

The brown-haired Hunter tilted his head to the side. He had crossed his arms on his chest, and for a second Iruka was certain he was smiling lightly under the eagle-like mask. A timeworn leather scabbard was strapped to his back in the traditional Hunter fashion, the blue and black hilt pointing behind a muscled shoulder. Though left-handed, Washi wielded Kagami, the blue-steeled katana, with a proficiency many had come to respect --- and fear.

"Your cat proved most persuasive, Okashira," Washi said blandly.

_Hime-neesan!_

The young man felt immensely relieved, for an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders --- he could count on Washi to lead the troops in his stead without faltering. Iruka himself had another objective in mind --- one that both exhilarated and terrified him.

"Konoha is officially under attack, starting from now - Code Red, Level III," Iruka said firmly. "Act accordingly."

He heard the collective gasp of his subordinates. Even Washi seemed faintly surprised, Iruka's words rippling his countenance, and it was to be expected, for Kurohyou had just given every inhabitant of the village the direct order to attack and kill on sight any potential enemies.

"Who ... ?" asked Washi, composing himself within a second.

He had stiffened, all his senses on alert, chakra at the ready, Iruka noted appreciatively. In his four years of service, the now twenty-two-year-old had improved remarkably --- and that, without forsaking his rigorous sense of morality. He would probably make a fine leader after Kurohyou, Iruka estimated.

Byakko's death had both pained and shaken him --- her demise a stark, grim reminder of his impending fate. He had survived nearly ten years already, through sheer luck, carefully honed fighting skills, and razor-sharp instinct --- but one day, it simply would not be enough. He would be outmatched, and that would be the end of it. When Iruka fell --- and fall he _would_, there was no escaping it --- another Hunter would step up and become leader in his stead, just like he himself had replaced his own teacher, Karasu-sensei, many years ago.

"The Hidden Village of Sound," interrupted a terse, hoarse voice, "And they have breached the Northwestern wall already."

Perched on the tiled edge of a slate-colored roof, an enormous eagle was grooming his dark bronze feathers. Around his neck dangled a forehead protector branded with Washi's personal mark.

Iruka frowned --- the situation was quickly getting out of hands. His mind was functioning at full speed, two different plans already roughly drafted in a matter of seconds.

"Hakaze-san, please try and locate Kuma," Kurohyou requested as politely as he could manage under such pressure --- he knew perfectly well he held no authority whatsoever over the aloof, free-spirited planar who served nobody but Washi --- and only when he actually felt like it.

The huge bird, sensing the gravity of the situation, swallowed what he would rather have said, gave a curt nod and flew away. Iruka let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding.

"Squad 8, head toward the Eastern front --- there are mostly clones in the area, you should be fine."

"At your command."

Iruka felt some of the tension between his subordinates ebb as he began dispatching the troops. Someone was taking charge at last, and the ninjas of Konoha were eager to fight back.

"Squad 6, gather the Chuunins --- I want the villagers ready for urban warfare as soon as possible. We don't want a repeat of last time's fiasco. Clear?"

"Right away!"

He turned to the other Hunter at last and stared hard at him. The younger man almost _---_ _almost ---_ squirmed under the piercing, appraising gaze of his leader. Whatever it was Kurohyou had been pondering, he seemingly made up his mind within seconds, and allowing Washi to relax slightly.

"Washi, I'll leave the counterattack to you and Hokage-sama. The remaining Squads and all the Jounins are under your command."

"Won't you lead us, Okashira?" the Eagle asked, unable to keep the surprise from showing in his voice. Like the others, he had been fully expecting Kurohyou to take charge as usual, secure in the knowledge that their leader would show them to victory. To be honest, he had not even considered being entrusted with such responsibility. Kurohyou's decision left him faint with pride, and for a few seconds, he stood at a loss for words, before he composed himself again.

"No --- the invasion is but a decoy designed to hide their actual purpose. The Salamanderis here," Iruka said curtly.

Kurenai started in shock. Her hand flew to her mouth, found the mask, and dropped back listlessly at her side. Gai looked up sharply, equally stunned. His very silence told much about his shock.

"You mean ..." the young woman began.

"Are you certain, Kurohyou-san?" asked Washi sternly.

Iruka's breath caught in his throat. He thought about Sandaime, the blood and the pallor of his body once life had left it. He thought about Konohamaru's tear-streaked face. He thought about Hayate's broken body. He thought about Iria's unseeing eyes.

He could not afford another mistake.

"Are you?" Washi insisted.

"Yes," he said, sounding more assured than he felt, "I am certain."

Washi winced imperceptibly. "It is worse than I thought."

"Indeed," replied Iruka, authorizing himself a small, wan smile --- knowing Washi's concern for Konoha matched his in intensity, even though the other Hunter would die before he admitted it.

The golden-clad Hunter gave a respectful bow and disappeared with a swirl of gritty wind.

Iruka drew in a deep breath.

"Kurenai-sensei, Gai-sensei, with me," he ordered, before turning to the honey-haired Jounin, "Genma-san, please bring Haruno-san to the hospital. Then if you can locate Squad 9, Shosawa might need you."

Genma nodded. "I'll do that." He carefully picked up Sakura, who had been mutely staring at them during the whole exchange, and settled her onto his back. The girl gripped his shoulders listlessly as he teleported away.

The Hunter scanned the area quickly, glancing around.

"Where the hell is Kakashi?" he muttered under his breath, exasperated. That was so like the Jounin, to go and disappear when Iruka needed him the most!

"We got there first," Kurenai said, "But as soon as he heard Sasuke had been taken, he went after him."

"Why aren't I surprised?" Iruka sighed, massaging his neck. He winced a little as sore, tense muscles protested under the rough, careless ministrations.

The black-haired woman shifted uncomfortably on the balls of her feet.

"I'm sorry about Byakko-sama," she blurted out, before adding in a strangled whisper, "It must have been horrible ..."

Iruka was touched, particularly since Kurenai and Byakko had never been the best of friends, especially after Sandaime's death --- in all honesty, only his intervention had prevented an all-out feud between them.

Byakko had looked down on Kurenai's late-acquired Jounin status, and with each pique the Hunter had sent her way, Kurenai had seen her patience thin; till the day she simply had not been able to bear it anymore, and had started fighting back --- verbally, of course. Iruka, finding their behavior childish and completely out of place in high-ranked ninjas, had stepped in and used his authority over the both of them to cut off their constant bickering. After that episode, the two women had not dared try Kurohyou's wrath again and had seemingly settled their quarrel --- but neither had managed to hide their shared contempt whenever the Hokage or a mission brought them together in the same room.

But with the white Hunter dead, Kurenai knew Iruka was bound to be hurting, and her heart went out to him. Her words were laced with genuine regret and sorrow, and the young man marveled once again at having such a wonderful friend.

Maybe one day he would have to close her eyes as well.

_Or Kakashi's_.

The very thought sent a wave of intolerable pain through his body. The intensity of his reaction surprised him. So the shrewd Jounin had managed to worm his way into Iruka's heart after all --- for a second, the young man was torn between elation and gut-wrenching fear as the sudden realization hit him hard.

Death had been the essence of his life for years --- first losing his family, then becoming a killer himself, and watching his comrades fall, one after the other --- but somehow Iruka simply never managed to get used to it.

_Karasu-sensei, Taka-sempai, Nezumi-sensei, Kame-san, Kairi-kun, Ojika-kun ..._

Iruka had often wished he had known their real names, or at least their reasons for joining the Hunters' ranks --- had it been out of duty, of pride, or of despair? The young man did not like to dwell too much on that thought --- he still was not certain what had motivated_ his_ own decision.

There had been loneliness, certainly, barely-healed heartbreak, and a defiant, abiding need to prove himself --- to prove the world he had not survived in vain the horrors of his early childhood, the atrocities that had put out the joy in his mother's eyes forever; that hehad not lived through that dreadful, bloody night of October twelve years ago for nothing. Some survivor's guilt, then --- for Iruka was nothing if not a survivor. Deep down, he was still the tenacious, turbulent little brat who used to be told he would never make it to Genin. Nothing short of a miracle would earn _him_ a Chuunin vest, they said, loud enough so he could hear them. He was just a good-for-nothing, loudmouthed prankster of an orphan.

And they wondered why he felt so close to Naruto.

He had passed the Chuunin exam, of course --- his marks among the best of the decade --- and, shrugging on the green flak jacket he had so feverishly sought, had felt the powerful thrill of intense elation and sated revenge.

Receiving the mask of the apprentice from Karasu-sensei's hands, Iruka had felt faint with breathless pride, and he had thought, then, that Sandaime had been right to nudge him into that direction. The months spent training with his new master had been the best of Iruka's short life --- he had always delighted in learning, and Karasu had been a patient, if demanding, teacher.

The gleam in his eyes had faded after the first mission, and his first kill --- when it had finally hit him, once and for all, that a Hunter was nothing but a weapon, a razor-sharp, bloodthirsty blade in the Hokage's hands, to be used in the village's best interests and discarded when it could no longer fulfill its purpose --- to kill.

That night --- a cold, windy night of December --- Karasu-sensei had watched impassively as his student wrenched the mask off his face, fell to his knees and reacquainted himself with his last meal. He had helped him up once there had been nothing left for Iruka to throw up. He had told him each life on earth was precious and unique, and was not to be taken lightly --- _ever_. He had told him Hunters killed so others could live --- and living by the sword, would be killed by the sword in turn.

He had named him Kurohyou, the Black Panther --- even to that day Iruka did not understand his choice --- and handed him the feline-like porcelain mask that symbolized his accession to Hunter status.

Iruka had never regretted becoming a Hunter, not even once --- he was proud to protect Konoha, even at the price of his own self-esteem --- or what was left of it. But there had been times, in the dead of the night, his hands and mask soaked with blood, when Iruka had caught himself thinking with a shudder that life might be long.

Such was the way of the ninja, _his_ way of the ninja --- wasn't he the very epitome of the Hunter precepts?

So why, _why_, after so many years, after so many deaths, did it have to keep hurting so much?

"Not now," he murmured, shaking his head, feeling every single one of his twenty-five years of life.

"But ..."

Iruka gave a tiny, tight smile, but she could not see it. He straightened his back.

"'Care for the living before you mourn the dead', that's what Karasu-sensei used to say. Let's go."

§§§

Leaping across tiled roofs at top speed, the three ninjas made their way to the Hokage's palace. Asuma caught up with them midway, having trailed Kurenai's chakra, and Kurohyou welcomed him into the team without hesitation. He hoped the four of them would be enough --- but he could not help the twinge of worry tugging at his heart. It had been years since the Salamander had left the village, and there was no telling how much he had improved since.

He had been a formidable opponent back then, even by Kurohyou's standards, and a frighteningly ruthless one --- who knew what the renegade Hunter was capable of now that nothing restrained him anymore?

And Sakura had mentioned three enemies --- he had accomplices then, and likely from the Sound. The idea surprised him --- being both too independent and unpredictable, Shanshouuo had never functioned well in a team, as far as Iruka could remember.

They reached Konoha No Dairi at last, the silence eerie and unnaturally heavy, only broken by the howling wind. The large, weather-worn oak doors of the palace had been left ajar.

"Where are the guards?" Kurenai whispered, glancing around warily.

Iruka wordlessly motioned for the Jounins to stay put and wait for him outside. All his senses on alert, he sneaked to the huge marble threshold and slipped inside without a sound.

After three minutes, which felt like an agonizing eternity to those waiting, the Hunter reappeared as silently as he had gone.

"The way is clear, and I have found the guards," he said tersely. "They are scattered a little everywhere. Mind you don't slip in the blood."

Iruka failed to mention that the first three levels were littered with mutilated corpses. As he led them through the palace, he purposely avoided the more _crowded_ area --- there simply was no time to mourn, and distraction, of whatever sort, would prove fatal against the opponents they were facing.

The moment he had stepped into the ancient building, Iruka had detected _his_ signature aura --- almost as if the Salamander had been expecting him all along, and cockily showed off his power to lure him. _Of course_ he was waiting for him, Iruka realized grimly.

After all, they still had an account to settle.

Each stride brought Kurohyou closer to a fight he both desired and dreaded keenly. He had known the young man _would_ come back one day, unable to cut off all ties with his past and his home village, and hating himself for that --- but so soon?

_Shanshouuo, the Salamander._

So young, Iruka thought, and already so cruel. Even as a young boy, he had been frighteningly intelligent, and equally pitiless. They had called him a prodigy and lavished him with praise and proud smiles, and he had paid them all in return with pain and scorn and hatred.

_Traitor._

Iruka had not forgotten --- and he had certainly not forgiven.

The Hunter came to stop in front the Hokage's office. Shanshouuo was waiting inside, as expected, but try as he might, Iruka could detect neither Godaime's nor Yamainu's auras. They had probably joined the battle raging outside before the Salamander wrecked havoc on the palace, Iruka reasoned.

That, or Shanshouuo had killed them both.

The young man noted another powerful presence in the room, as well as an all too familiar aura --- at the moment wild and struggling with useless fury.

_Naruto!_

Which meant, Iruka deducted quickly, that the third ninja had taken Sasuke, and that Kakashi was probably on their tail.

_Be careful, you twit ..._

The Hunter drew a deep breath and steadied himself for the fight to come. He closed his eyes, found his focus and cleared his mind. His senses grew increasingly sharper, until he felt aware of_ everything _around him. His aura brushed past Kurenai, Gai and Asuma; met and defied the Salamander's. They battled for dominance, circling around each other, until Kurohyou decided to let Shanshouuo get a taste of his abilities.

For a brief instant, less than a second, Iruka released the tight control he had been holding over his chakra, letting sheer power flow into his veins and warm his blood --- overpowering and blazing. Then he wrestled back the wild power under his command, and pushed the doors open with the flat of his gloved hands.

Iruka had known _he _would be there, had _felt_ him --- but actually _seeing_ him in person, after so many years, was quite another thing. Anger nestled, fast and hot, in the pit of his stomach.

The Salamander stood by the window, gazing peacefully at the battle raging outside, in Konoha's streets. He whirled around at Iruka's entrance, the graceful motion rippling dark and crimson silk.

He had not changed much, Iruka estimated. Though still slender and fine-boned, he stood taller now, almost reaching Iruka's height. He looked perhaps even more handsome, if that was possible, the pale features pleasant and affirmed, with a straight, finely-chiseled nose, making him look older than his years. Yet his cheeks still held some of the soft roundness of childhood and Iruka remembered with a pang that he was only seventeen.

"It has been a long time," the boy ---_ man _--- said smoothly, "Okashira."

"Itachi," Kurohyou growled, low in his throat. His hands curled into fists, short-trimmed nails scraping against worn leather. Hot-white, sharp pain flared up across his left palm and gave his thirst for vengeance an almost tangible edge.

_On my blood, sister._

There was another ninja waiting a few feet to the right, clad in the same fashion. Iruka's trained eyes took in the enormous hilt protruding behind one shoulder. Unlike Itachi's, the high-collared coat he wore was buttoned up and hid the lower half of his face --- yet failing to conceal the stark ugliness of the bluish, almost shark-like face.

_Hoshikagi Kisame,_ his mind supplied helpfully,_ missing-nin of the Hidden Village of Mist and S-ranked criminal._

Next to him, kneeling on the cold stone slabs, a chakra-restrained Naruto gazed up bleakly at Kurohyou. The Hunter could feel waves of grim despair and cold fury radiating from him.

_Yuuhei No Jutsu_, Iruka surmised. The high-level jutsu shrewdly used both physical and mental restraint, shackling the victim in chakra bonds, and annihilating any will to escape. As such, the cost in power was not very high, and the spell could be maintained over long periods without difficulty.

Naruto was in all likelihood trying to fight off the jutsu, but Iruka already knew it would be in vain --- unless the Nine Tails decided to come out, obviously, but that was not a prospect Iruka found very appealing.

The renegade Hunter quirked an eyebrow at the scrutiny, and reached up to tuck a stray lock of raven-black hair behind a slightly pointed ear.

"Now, now," he remarked, infuriatingly calm, "There is no need to hide behind a mask. Not between _us_ ..."

The Hunter tensed, sensing the quizzical gazes of his subordinates riveted on his back. Naruto's blue eyes were very wide.

Though Itachi's face and tone remained perfectly bland, the red irises held an almost amused glint, and there was the faintest of twitches at the corner of his mouth.

"Why don't you take it off," the Salamander said, his voice at its mildest, "_Sensei_?"

* * *

Feeback very welcome!  



	9. TSB8: Angry Side

**The Silent Blade: Hunter**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)aol(dot)com  
**Category:** Action/Adventure/Romance  
**Keywords:** Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary:** The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. (Book 1, KakaIru) **Edited version**  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto were mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes: **I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers. Yummy.

* * *

Glossary

_Kyomu no Jutsu_: Jutsu of Nothingness.  
_Satsujinki:_ Cutthroat.

**Chapter 8:** **Angry Side**

_**When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you.**_

**- African proverb**

§§§

_Sensei._

The word echoed blearily in Iruka's head, eliciting a wave of unexpected pain from a wound he did not know he had been nursing. He stiffened.

_Sensei_.

There had been a time when Iruka had been proud of this title, even though he had refused it at first. He had only accepted reluctantly, and against his better judgment, as a favour to the Sandaime.

He had known the boy would be trouble the moment he had first seen him -- no normal child had eyes this cold. Itachi's would cloud over imperceptibly whenever someone talked to him, looking past them and through them with frightening disinterest. Iruka had loathed them instantly, those dark unreadable eyes. The Hunter had never completely got past this first impression -- not even a few years into Sanshouou's apprenticeship, when Iruka had come to harbour a certain fondness for his apprentice, had he managed to trust him wholeheartedly.

Time had proven him right.

Iruka understood why Itachi wanted him to remove his mask, and it was not out of curiosity. No, the renegade probably could not care less about Kurohyou's true identity. He did not fear the person behind the mask.

That was his first mistake.

Kurohyou was a legend, and he was the only person in the world Itachi had ever truly respected, however grudgingly. It was part of the reason he had left, and part of the reason he had come back. He had carved a name for himself in the Akatsuki, a name covered with his family's blood, that was as feared as Kurohyou's. But in the secret of his own mind, Sanshouou had never completely managed to step out of his master's shadow.

So when the occasion had presented itself to come back, even if it meant an alliance with the Sound, which he despised, Itachi had probably not hesitated. He had captured Naruto, as was the plan, but then he had done something not even himself had anticipated. He had put the mission at a risk just to lure Kurohyou to him, secure in the thought he would win the inevitable confrontation.

_I always said your arrogance would be your downfall, one day_, Iruka thought, feeling oddly calm.

_Let this be today._

"I am waiting," Itachi said blandly.

Iruka did not answer.

"As you wish, _sensei_," the renegade said, looking indifferent. He snapped his fingers, once, and Naruto writhed on the floor with a scream of pain.

The Hunter stared stonily at his opponent, not sparing a glance at Naruto, even though his insides constricted painfully and his heart went out to the boy. Rage flooded him, but he clamped down on it with all his might.

_Winning a battle is not just about of how good you _are_, but how good your opponent _thinks _you are._

From the deep recesses of his memory, Karasu's words echoed in his mind. Iruka closed his eyes for a second, then he made up his mind, and did something he usually hated.

He took a chance.

In one smooth, calculated motion, Iruka reached up and untied his mask with his right hand. He heard the collective gasp of his subordinates behind him, but paid them no notice. Then he carefully composed himself and stared right into Itachi's eyes.

In a flash, he thought he saw those impassive dark eyes widen marginally, but maybe it had just been a trick of the light. So Iruka had guessed right. Itachi had not expected him to actually take off his mask -- but then, the renegade could not have known how much Naruto meant to him.

_Know your enemy better than yourself_.

Iruka's decision had cost him capital ground, but by doing so he had managed to overthrow Itachi -- if only for a while -- and he very much intended to press his advantage. He let his muscles relax imperceptibly, tilted his head to the side in flawless imitation of amused disinterest.

Taunting.

He did not so much as glance at Naruto.

"I..Iruka-sensei..." the boy said, his eyes very wide and very blue.

"It's always the quiet ones, eh?" Asuma murmured thoughtfully. He cracked his knuckles, bracing himself for a fight.

Gai remained, for once, utterly silent.

_Thank the Gods for small mercies._

"You stay out of it," Iruka said, never breaking eye contact with Itachi, "_All of you_."

"But..!" Kurenai exclaimed, taking a step toward Iruka. Then she stopped, holding herself still by sheer force of will. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Surprising even herself, she heard herself saying, "Very well."

The Hunter felt a wave of intense relief wash over him. Brave, loyal Kurenai.

"Shark-man in the corner is yours, though," the young man said, with a feral grin. "Happy fishing."

"At your command, Kurohyou-sama!" the three Jounins said in a chorus. They sounded determined.

Iruka studied the renegade for a long moment before he spoke again.

"I know why you came back," the Hunter said calmly. He crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head back slightly.

His level facade was met by a cold, scornful smile.

"I doubt it."

"To pay off your debt."

"A debt?" Itachi looked faintly amused. "Yes, I suppose this is one way of putting it." The Uchiha pursed his lips. "This village owes me more they can ever repay."

"Oh?" Kurohyou said, raising an eyebrow. "Somehow, I was under the impression it was the other way around."

"You delude yourself, as usual."

Though his expression did not waver, Iruka's dark gaze flickered.

"As a child," Itachi said, "I was led to believe that _serving_ was a privilege. The truth is, they _need_ us for their survival. They _use_ us, when we should reign. Fortunately, I saw through their lies before it was too late."

"An epiphany in which your new master had not part, of course," cut in the Hunter, a scornful edge to his voice.

"Orochimaru was right to forsake this thrice-cursed village," Itachi said coldly. "But I have no master."

"Is that why you killed them all?" Iruka asked sadly. "Your own clan ..."

"They paid the price for their arrogance," Itachi answered, frostily. "I was born to lead, not to serve. And so are you, _sensei_. Konoha is using you, or are you too blind to see it?"

Iruka chuckled, then began to laugh outright -- a low, bleak laugh that made Itachi's eyes narrow in anger. At last the Hunter stilled and looked straight into Itachi's crimson, burning gaze.

"You are a fool, Uchiha," he said, his voice cold and hard. "I know that, I always did. And yet here I am, and here you are -- that is the difference between us."

"But I am free, and you are not," the Sharingan user shot back. "I broke my bonds, and answer to no one, while you crawl at the Hokage's feet."

Iruka shook his head bitterly.

"Do you even remember it, Itachi? The pledge you made, the pledge you swore to honor..." Iruka began, stiff with poised, pained anger, "'A Hunter is sworn to his village, his heart knows but courage; his blade defends the helpless, in life as in death."

"No one believes in those words anymore," said Itachi with almost painful contempt.

Iruka had a wan smile.

"I do," he said softly. "And that is why I shall kill you."

Itachi had not moved, his face completely blank. Red irises swirling lazily, he beckoned Kurohyou to make the first move.

_Giving me a free shot, eh?_

Far from being annoyed, Iruka smiled inwardly.

Itachi was a shinobi, in the purest sense of the term. The blood of the Uchiha ran through his veins. From his birth on, nothing had ever threatened that certainty: he was a _genius_.

Under normal circumstances, the cards would have been neatly stacked in the Uchiha's favour.

Only there was _something_ Itachi could not have foreseen. He had never paid his teacher enough attention for that. He had never bothered to care.

Iruka was a survivor.

He had many flaws, but he was certainly no fool. In terms of raw power, and even ninja abilities, Iruka could not compete with Itachi, or even with Kakashi. As a teenager, there had been a time when he had thought that, one day, he would best the Sannin themselves. Now he knew with the certainty of experience that he never would. The thought did not trouble him -- he had his own strength.

A decade on the battlefield had taught him a few cruel, if necessary lessons. After ten years as a Hunter, Iruka held very few illusions about himself or his abilities. He was neither the strongest, the fastest nor the smartest. There was no shame it admitting the truth, but delusions of grandeur would inevitably hasten one's downfall.

Perfectly aware of both his strengths and weaknesses, Iruka knew precisely what he was capable of. Aware of his limits, he could circumvent them. His blades were as much a part of him as his legs or his arms, and he could wield them with almost unrivalled accuracy.

Above average in everything, but without any outstanding natural gifts -- except maybe an incredibly nimble mind and a surprising disposition for scheming -- Iruka had worked his way up the ladder, relentlessly. Little, if anything, had ever come easily to him. His forehead protector, his Chuunin vest, his Hunter's mask and tattoo -- he had earned them by the sweat of his brow. Through hard training, the Hunter had made himself into a lethal weapon, first mastering his body, then the way of the blade.

Death, pain, loneliness -- all his life, Iruka had been faced with difficulties. And, overcoming them one after the other, in his systematic, tenacious way, he had taught himself to adapt.

Now, faced the most formidable foe he would probably fight in his life, Iruka felt the powerful thrill of challenge. Adrenaline surged through his body; his mind was calm. He was already thinking far ahead, drafting up plans and discarding them as new ideas sprang to life. One in particular brought a tight smile to his lips.

Iruka's wild card and signature jutsu -- an anti-chakra barrier.

A chakra user, deprived of his principal strength, was at his most vulnerable. No ninja in their right mind would ever have thought of coming up with such a jutsu, let alone used it. It was insanity; it was suicide.

But it would work.

The Hunter closed his eyes and flowed through the complex motions of the jutsu, feeling his skin prickle as Itachi's Sharingan activated. Uncharacteristically, Iruka smirked.

"Kyomu no Jutsu," he called, his voice even and unwavering. The air around Iruka seemed to shimmer with a soft glow. Then there was a flash of neigh blinding light, and to all in the room the temperature dropped noticeably. Naruto fell with a dull sound against the floor, and lay there motionless.

Unlike Iruka, most shinobi had little taste for chakra theory. It was thus a little known fact that chakra was similar in function and properties to waves. Iruka's jutsu worked by turning the caster's chakra into a wave of strictly opposite frequency and wavelength. As the laws of physics would have it, both waves cancelled each other out. So long as Iruka's barrier held, nobody within a 500-meter radius would be able to cast a single jutsu. It could not prevent shinobi from creating chakra, but it could make it impossible for them to use that raw power.

A marvel of simplicity.

Itachi's Sharingan would thus still work, but all attempts to use Mangekyou on him would be fruitless, and that was all Iruka needed.

When he opened his eyes, he found his former student glaring at him in frosty hatred. He was ghastly pale. The three black dots swirled furiously in the blood-red irises.

"_What_ have you done?" Itachi breathed.

He could not quite hide the horror in his voice.

Iruka did not have time to answer him. A deafening detonation suddenly shook the whole building. Nearby windows shattered in thousands of shards. Under his feet, Iruka felt the telltale energy ripple of an another oncoming blast. His mind racing, the Hunter crossed his forearms in front of his face to protect himself, and dove behind a desk, just as the right-side wall exploded.

_Chakra bombs._

The Hunter could have slapped himself. _Of_ _course_ Itachi would have a back-up plan; and Iruka just _had_ to go and trigger them. Chakra bombs were staggeringly powerful fireballs held together by a single Air jutsu. When the anti-chakra barrier had hit them and dispelled the weavings, the bombs had simply gone off. A wave of guilt threatened to overwhelm Iruka. For a long second, he just crouched there, nauseated by his own sense of failure.

Then he bit the inside of his cheek, hard and clamped down on self-reprieve with all his might. Wallowing in guilt would get him killed before he had time to say "jutsu". He glanced around, quickly assessing the extent of the damage. That was when he noticed the smoke.

The Palace had caught fire.

§§§

Kurenai sprang back to her feet. The second explosion had thrown her backwards, but otherwise she thought herself lucky to be mostly unharmed. With a wince, she removed the large shard of glass that had lodged itself into her left forearm. The bindings would stop the blood flow, or so she hoped.

She looked around quickly, insanely relieved to spot Asuma picking himself up, safe and sound, a few paces away. When Gai, uncharacteristically silent, moved to stand at her right shoulder, she half-turned to him. Then Iruka entered her field of vision. The moment she saw him, ready to battle Itachi, her first impulse was to rush to his side. She took a step toward him, then stopped herself forcefully, Iruka's words echoing into her mind.

_You stay out of it._

This was not their fight.

She caught Asuma's gaze, and nodded. Reaching into her belt pouch, she grabbed a few kunais and readied herself.

Across the room, the shark-like face of Kisame split into a feral, ugly smirk.

§§§

With slow, deliberate motions, Kurohyou drew out his blades, one after the other. The renegade unsheathed his own black-hilted katana, Satsujinki -- _Cutthroat_.

No more words were necessary.

Iruka knew better than to rush straight at Itachi. He wasn't a veteran for nothing: staying alive had almost become second nature to him. Iruka simply stood there, his muscled, over-trained body poised for battle. He held his twin swords firmly, without clutching them -- it would only have made his hands sweat, and tire his arms needlessly. The wound on his left palm pulsed with dull pain, but he did not care. The thrill of the coming fight had chased away his doubts and insecurities.

This was what he had trained himself for. Stripped of its moral frills, life became terrifyingly simple. He would fight, and live, or die.

The Hunter smiled.

He could feel Itachi's Sharingan following and memorizing his every breath, his every move.

_Let him_, Iruka thought distantly, _Let him _think _he knows me_.

He was acutely aware of the many failings and loopholes of his plan that might cost him his life. The first part in particular would require utmost concentration and skill. Fighting against a Sharingan user when one did not have this talent themselves was widely considered to be suicidal. How were you supposed to best an opponent who could determine your next move before you even knew it yourself?

The answer was simple: you could not.

Iruka was wrenched off his thoughts when the renegade suddenly lunged at him.

Patience had never been one of Itachi's strong points; wasting time annoyed him to no ends -- a fact that Iruka, as his former teacher, knew perfectly well. Unfortunately, the Chuunin himself did not have the luxury of time. The fire had spread to their part of the palace. With each passing moment, their chances of survival became increasingly slimmer.

The Hunter feinted to the left; on cue, Satsujinki slashed in a wide arc on his other side. In spite of his surprise, Iruka sidestepped the attack easily. Itachi rained blows on him, with frightening speed and strength. Although narrowly, Iruka blocked most of them but, to his dismay, wasn't able to land a single attack in return.

For a moment, the Hunter wondered whether he had underestimated his former student. Then he caught sight of Naruto, sprawled on the stone floor, stunned by the anti-chakra blast.

He forced himself to focus.

After a few minutes' fighting, Iruka decided he had given his enemy enough time to collect his "data". It was time to move on to the second part of his plan, before he got himself beheaded -- or worse.

In his mind's eye, he pictured a black circle. Carefully, he directed the flow of his thoughts into the small area of nothingness he had just created. He felt himself go progressively blank.

When Itachi's katana rushed at the exposed skin of his neck, the Hunter's body reacted on pure instinct, dropping to the hard stone floor and rolling backwards fluidly. Then he sprang up and, growling, launched himself at his opponent. Kiba slashed upwards across Itachi's chest, ripping open the red and black Akatsuki silks. Tsume drew a large, ugly gash on the Uchiha's pale cheek.

Panting, both ninja circled each other warily.

Iruka felt a wild surge of satisfaction at seeing blood run down Itachi's neck. He glimpsed growing annoyance in those red eyes. The Hunter licked his lips. On a distinctly distant level, he was aware he probably shouldn't have been grinning. He could not bring himself to care.

The Sharingan, contrarily to the legends that surrounded it, held no miraculous power of foresight. It simply read the multitude of unconscious signals given off by the user's adversary, and interpreted them accordingly.

In closing his mind and allowing his body's well-trained instincts to react on their own, Iruka had become utterly unpredictable -- to himself as well as Itachi. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like quicksilver; blood thundered in his ears. He had never felt more alive, more alert. He was a Hunter, he was a killer.

And kill he would.

§§§

Kisame had proved a tougher opponent than Kurenai had initially surmised. He was fast; shuriken bounced on his thick, shark-like skin, and with Iruka's barrier firmly in place, they could not even imbue their weapons with chakra.

Her right side had been nearly crushed by the missing-nin's huge sword. Only her fast reflexes and a quick sidestep had allowed her to lessen the impact, but she had difficulty breathing.

With a frighteningly ridiculous war cry, Gai launched himself at Kisame. A Taijutsu specialist, the Green Beast of Konoha was not affected in the least by the anti-chakra field. He was their best -- _only_ -- chance. She turned to glance at Asuma, who grunted in reply. Kurenai clutched a kunai in her left hand. She readied herself.

A sudden sense of foreboding washed over her. She felt her skin crawl, her stomach flutter; her vision swam. Ever since she was a child, Kurenai had never doubted her instincts. She wasn't about to start. She turned to Asuma, momentum adding to her strength, and kicked him hard in the chest. Her heart skipped a few beats at the look of betrayal in his jet-black eyes, but she did not have time for regrets.

Her throat tightened painfully. Gai and Kisame were still fighting. She would be too late. In slow motion, she watched Kisame dodge narrowly Gai's forceful round-kick. The Jounin's foot hit the wall behind them with tremendous force.

A gigantic beam of wood had been dislodged by Itachi's chakra bombs and hanging precariously. It gave way with an ominous crack.

"Watch out!" Kurenai screamed, against all hopes.

Gai looked up mid-leap at her outburst. When he glimpsed the huge piece of timber, he twisted out of the way with astonishing flexibility, landed on his palms and kicked the beam when it drew level with Kisame's throat. The building swayed once again when both wood and shark-like shinobi embedded themselves into the stone wall. The powerful blow beheaded the missing-nin neatly. His head rolled on the ground then came to a halt at Asuma's feet.

Still panting, the bearded Jounin raised an eyebrow.

"Man," he said thoughtfully, "Remind me never to play Twister with you."

Gai grinned, revealing a row of blindingly white teeth.

"Sandaime-sama himself taught me the art of extreme flexibility."

Asuma blanched, the cigarette dropping from his lips. The shinobi equivalent of the popular game often involved alcohol and scant clothing. The Jounin found he did not want to _know_.

"Well, you _asked_," Kurenai whispered tartly, crossing her arms on her chest.

§§§

Time was running short.

All around them, the blaze was growing in strength. The building would collapse before long.

Should they ever face each other again, Iruka had sworn to himself years ago, Itachi would not come out of it alive -- even if the Hunter had to die along with him. That was how it should have been -- it was Iruka's duty to destroy what he had helped create.

But he could not resolve himself to sacrificing his friends. Naruto, Kurenai, Asuma, Gai -- they were not responsible for his mistake. It was his to repay alone.

He had let too many people die already. He would not fail the village again.

Kurohyou was more than willing to die for the village's safety -- that was the way of the Hunter, his way of the ninja. Iruka had stopped mattering the moment he had received his mask. He had always known it would come to this eventually. He was not afraid. He would do anything in his power to protect them.

Live, fight, die.

Itachi raised his sword. It was now, or never.

Dropping his guard for a precious second, the Hunter fell into a half-crouch. The opening was too valuable to let pass. The renegade's blade plunged towards Iruka's chest.

Right into the trap.

Bracing himself, Iruka angled his body to meet the sword. It slid neatly between two ribs, at the precise point Iruka had decided -- where it should not, according to his plan, damage anything vital. A single miscalculation would bring certain death.

The pain was staggering. Iruka's gaze never left Itachi's. His fingers tightened on Kiba, his knuckles whitening under the strain.

He smiled as Itachi pulled out Satsujinki with a cruel smirk. Then he drove his own blade straight into the genius' chest, under the ribcage upwards, tearing and slashing his way to his lung. The red irises widened in surprised pain. Blood pearled at his lips.

The Hunter twisted his wrist, half-withdrawing the kodachi. Then he struck again, angling the blade horizontally, and severed Itachi's spinal cord.

Like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut, the renegade fell against Iruka, his hand slipping off the hilt of his katana and shooting up to grip Iruka's shoulder, struggling vainly. The Sharingan faded from his eyes. He vomited blood all over the black leather.

The Hunter embraced him, his arms closing around the lithe frame of his former pupil. For a few short, unending seconds, he held him in silence. He closed his eyes.

"I am sorry," he murmured, even though he knew Itachi was not.

Then Iruka snapped his neck.

§§§

Across the room, the three Jounin had watched the ferocious battle unfold in growing anxiety. Gai held Naruto, still unconscious, against his muscled spandex-clad chest.

The Hunter laid Itachi's corpse on the stone slabs with slow reverence. He drew himself up gracelessly, and he sheathed his swords. He hobbled back to them, obviously favoring his right side. He could feel blood trickling down his stomach.

But he would live, and Iria had been avanged.

He could not find it in himself to meet Asuma's or Gai's eyes, and he had a feeling he would collapse if he started worrying about Naruto's state. He could not afford it. Instead, he kept his gaze fixated on Kurenai's mask.

"I might need some of your bandages," he said, glancing down at his wound critically, "If you're willing to spare them."

The red-eyed Jounin started, suddenly noticing the unnatural palor of Iruka's face. She stretched out her hand in an unconscious display of concern. A small smile graced Iruka's lips, and it was certainly genuine, if a bit strained.

"Are you all right?"

He waved off her concern with a vague shake of his head, already binding the white cloth tightly around his chest. He gave a light hiss of pain, then straightened forcibly.

"My mask," he said, suddenly, glancing around.

Before he could move to retrieve it, however, Kurenai took a step forward and handed her own to him, reverently. Iruka stared, at a loss for words. Such simple, gratuitous kindness left him speechless.

"Thanks," he croaked out eventually, looking away.

With practised ease, the Hunter placed the porcelain mask on his face and tied it behind his skull.

Asuma moved to stand by Itachi's corpse. He crouched down and leaned in, obviously intent on carrying it outside.

"Leave him," Iruka interjected, feeling terribly tired. At the Jounin's questioning look, he added, simply, "This is how a Hunter should go. By fire."

"But..."

"For better or for worse," Kurohyou replied tonelessly, "Itachi was a Hunter."

There was nothing the three Jounin could say to that. Bone-weary but as determined as ever, Iruka reached out to stroke Naruto's hair. It was streaked with dirt and matted with blood, he noticed distantly.

Then he drew back his hand and turned his attention to his subordinates once more.

"We have two men missing, and one of their accomplices is still at large. I'm going to find them. Alone," he added dryly, when Kurenai drew out another kunai, obviously eager to fight.

The young woman looked outraged and opened her mouth to express her utmost indignation, when Iruka put a gloved finger to her lips.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and calm. "Please don't."

She turned away, stiff and pained. Iruka's hand fell back to his side, and he sighed inwardly.

"What about us?" Asuma could not help but ask. Even though it grated at his sense of honor to abandon his commanding officer -- and _friend_, the Jounin remembered with a jolt -- he would not go against his orders.

It was a matter of respect.

"The four of you get the hell out of here," Kurohyou ordered firmly. "I won't say it twice."

Forestalling their inevitable protests, he turned around and made for the staircase.

Kurenai shifted on the ball of her feet, an inscrutable look on her fair, sweat-drenched face.

"Iruka-kun," she blurted out suddenly.

The Hunter turned to her, dirty-white porcelain mask gleaming eerily in the overheated atmosphere. His composure gave off almost nothing. He simply stood there, cold and bloodied and silent. Crimson eyes very wide, she stared at him for a few seconds, before she muttered, hoarsely,

"Please be careful."

Kurohyou cocked his head to the side. She could almost see the tight, wan smile under the mask.

"Aren't I always?" the Hunter shot back, his light tone sounding a little forced. Then he whirled round and jumped into the raging blaze.

Staring into the flames, Kurenai bowed her head. Her smile was strained.

"Yes," she whispered, "I was afraid you'd say that."

* * *

Feeback very welcome!  



	10. TSB9: Into the Fire

**The Silent Blade: Hunter  
**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail: **carcinya(at)aol(dot)com  
**Category:** Action/Adventure/Romance  
**Keywords:** Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary: **The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. (Book 1, KakaIru)** Edited version**  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes: **I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers. Yummy.

**Unbetaed.**

* * *

Glossary

_Shuurai_: Lightning speed.  
_Kuma_: Bear.  
_Washi:_ Eagle.  
_Yamainu_: Mountain Dog.

§§§

**Chapter 9:****Into the fire**

_**Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength; loving someone deeply gives you courage.**_

**-- Lao-Tzu**

§§§

He had always hated the dark.

Iruka coughed. His breathing was ragged, his throat sore from the heavy, noxious smoke that had filled the building. He willed himself to focus on the task at hand -- and, above all, not to let claustrophobia take over whatever sanity he had left. He could not afford to fall into hysterics, for obvious, scalding hot reasons -- unless, of course, he wished to end up as Hunter kebab.

In front of him, a large span of the floor had collapsed. Iruka gave the gaping dark hole a wide berth, circling around it as carefully as speed could allow. Even blurred by pain and smoke and fear, his well-trained senses detected the tell-tale crack of wood about to snap, a split second before another part crumbled under his weight, and he dived forward head-first, hoping the panelling would hold.

It did.

Iruka picked himself up with a groan, and made a mental note to avoid flips and other somersaults right after having been skewered like a vulgar piece of meat. His memory diligently mapped out the level for him. He edged closer to the left-hand wall, where he assumed the atmosphere would be somewhat cooler, and crouched low. His desperate attempts to calm himself using one of the relaxation techniques Karasu-sensei had taught him years ago proved useless.

As he progressed along the corridors, the mask seemed to grow heavier, its oppressing weight adding to Iruka's quickly rising panic. The wound in his chest sent ripples of agony throughout his whole body with each step he took. He stopped, his feet feeling like lead.

_Can't breathe! Can't breathe!_

Suddenly, Iruka could not take it any longer. He wrenched the mask off his face. He barely registered the sound of it clattering a few meters ahead onto the ground as he sunk to the floor. The wild throb of his heart echoed painfully in his head. He was shaking all over. Hot beads of perspiration rolled down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them off his face frantically, without success. He coughed again, then pressed the back of his hand against his nose and kept his head bowed, trying to inhale as little smoke as possible.

Behind him, a span of ceiling collapsed with an ominous crack.

_Find Kakashi._

His heart pounding, Iruka held onto this single thought the way a drowning man might clutch a life-belt. Tapping into resources he did not know he had, he pushed himself up on shaky legs, steadying himself with his right hand. His claustrophobia came back with a vengeance. His head swam. His legs would not move. His knees threatened to buckle.

The darkness. The heat.

_Find him._

Trembling, the Hunter gritted his teeth and set his gaze on the darkened end of the corridor. It could cave in and bury him alive anytime. It could...

_Find him!_

Iruka started to run.

He raced down the hallways at full speed, spurred on by sheer terror -- though he could not tell who he was more afraid for, Kakashi or himself.

§§§

The three Jounin made their way out of the building as quickly as their exhausted legs could take them. Gai blathered for a few minutes about Iruka's "youthful ardor and dedication", until Asuma sombrely mentioned the potential side-effects of spandex melting on certain delicate parts of a man's anatomy. It apparently gave him much to consider, for he did not speak again.

No matter how hard she tried not to think about it, Kurenai's mind always drifted back to Iruka. From what she had glimpsed of their battle, Itachi's blade at struck him in the chest, between two ribs. He had probably meant it that way, she knew -- Kurohyou had never balked at injuring himself purposely if it meant winning a fight.

As ANBU captain, Kurenai had been through a crash course in emergency field medicine, and her trained eye could tell the younger man's wounds were more serious than he had let on. He was lucky not to be down with pneumothorax, to be sure; but he was in all likelihood bleeding internally, and with the added strain of the anti-chakra barrier -- which she suspected he could not simply cancel -- Iruka would soon find himself dangerously weakened, and in no state to fight.

Kurenai could have slapped herself for letting him go and face danger by himself. But Iruka simply was not the sort of man you could refuse. He had a presence, and years as at the top of the hierarchy had only sharpened his commanding aura. When he gave out orders, he expected them to be obeyed at once -- not out of arrogance, though that might have been part of it in his younger years, but rather because he knew his place, his responsibilities, and carried out his duty with sometimes frightening devotion.

But no matter how hard Kurohyou tried to pretend otherwise, Iruka was only human.

And still very young.

All of a sudden, the reality of what she was doing hit her hard. They were almost out -- already she could see the sky, the bright blue sky and the warm spring sun...

And she was abandoning her friend.

Leaving him to _die_.

Kurenai gasped. A surge of anguish left her reeling. Her hand shot up to her throat. She was aware, on some level, that she was coming dangerously close to hyperventilating, but she could not help herself.

She _had_ to go, she couldn't leave, she had to go _back_...

Asuma's large hand landed on her arm and jolted her back to reality.

"Iruka told us to leave," he said, tonelessly.

"I _know_ what he said!" she hissed, angrily. "And I _know_ he's making a mistake!"

She wrenched her forearm from his grip, already moving to turn around.

"Do you trust him?"

Kurenai stopped dead in her tracks, unable to take another step.

"_Do_ you?" Asuma insisted. He stared at her intently, refusing to let himself be swayed by her haunted air. Locks of dark hair stuck to her damp, soot-covered brow. She had bitten through her bottom lip. Blood pearled at the cracked skin, matching her crimson eyes, bright with unshed tears.

"I would trust him with my life," she choked out at last.

"Then why can't you trust him with _his_?"

Kurenai swallowed audibly. She had no coherent answer beyond the immediate, unspeakable thought that burned foremost in her mind.

_I don't want him to die._

"Iruka is my _friend_."

"Kurohyou is a _Hunter_," Asuma reminded her without mercy. "We must not interfere." Then he added, more softly, "If anyone can find a way, he will."

Her throat squeezing painfully, Kurenai glanced back above her shoulder one last time before they started running again. When they burst out the palace, she hated herself for the relief fresh air brought her, unable to chase off her last image of Iruka -- the silent, wounded, proud Hunter standing alone before the raging blaze.

_Please let him be all right._

§§§

After what seemed like hours to him, Iruka eventually detected Kakashi's chakra signature, about twenty feet ahead. It was a wonder he had sensed it at all -- in truth the anti-chakra field dimmed everything. But the Jounin was still alive. Relief flooded him, and he staggered, barely keeping his footing. He regained his balance almost instantly and bounded forward once again.

He barged into the Hokage's office, slamming into the large wooden door shoulder first.

The room was in shambles On the right-hand side, the wooden floor had been blown off, probably by one of Itachi's chakra bombs. Fire roared out of the hole. Slats were embedded in the walls, hinting at the strength of the explosion. The other side was hardly better. _A battle field_, came the immediate, grim realization. The massive mahogany desk had been overturnedscattering papers all over the room. The white linen curtains had been badly slashed and hung limply from their poles. He scanned the room, frustrated. Worry gnawed at his insides.

Kakashi was huddled in a corner, in a vain attempt to protect himself from the blaze. He had drawn his knees to his chest, and seemed to be holding them into place with one of his arms. He was not moving.

Why hadn't he fled?

Iruka was by his side in a few steps. He gripped the Jounin's shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and shook him without gentleness.

"Kakashi-san!" he called out, torn between insane relief and barely contained anger. _Why hadn't he fled? _The older man looked up sharply. He looked drawn and tense and all in all exhausted. Since he had discarded his mask, Iruka guessed darkly, he must have been using the infamous Sharingan.

"You came," Kakashi said, vaguely.

He sounded almost awed.

"I just happened to pass by, is all," Iruka replied tartly. Kakashi gave no indication he had heard him at all.

"You came for me," he repeated, slowly. "Does that mean you like me, then?"

His smile was but a ghost of his usual impish grin. Iruka felt faintly ill.

Something was very wrong.

"Don't delude yourself," the Hunter snapped. Or tried to -- his voice cracked.

Kakashi's empty smile widened, but did not quite reach his mismatched eyes. Above the two shinobi, the ceiling gave an sinister creaking sound.

"Let's get out of here," Iruka said, urgently. He shifted his weight to get up, stopping when he noticed Kakashi had not moved an inch.

"Ah," the Jounin murmured, "But you see, there's this little problem."

"Quit fooling around!" Iruka all but yelled, "Get _up_!"

"I can't," came the listless reply. The firm, bleak resignation in his voice was heartbreaking.

Something clenched painfully in Iruka's gut. He stared at him, aghast.

"I had to use the Sharingan," Kakashi specified, gesturing vaguely behind Iruka, "To kill this guy."

Iruka's gaze followed Kakashi's, settled on a dark, charred silhouette that lay a few feet away from them. A battered, half-burned forehead protector sent off sparks of glaring light.

It was branded with the Sound sigil.

"Kabuto," the Hunter breathed, turning back to Kakashi. "You killed him."

The Jounin tried to shrug, then bit back a gasp of pain.

"I may not be a Hunter," he huffed, looking falsely offended, "But I'm still a _genius_."

"And Sasuke?" Iruka questioned instantly. He could not feel the boy's aura anywhere in the palace.

"I _might_ have mentioned Itachi's presence at the southern border," Kakashi offered off-handedly. "I ordered him to go 'after' his brother, of course."

"You are the worst," Iruka replied in obvious relief, his smile tight and painful. "Come on, let's go."

"I can't move my legs," Kakashi informed him, patiently.

With Iruka's anti-chakra field firmly in place, there would be no miraculous teleporting out of the building. Both of them knew it.

"I can carry you!" the Hunter shot back, half-desperate and half-delirious with fear.

"Don't be stupid! What would be the point of us burning together?" Kakashi snapped. "Aside from the whole 'cursed lovers' thing, of course..." he added, far too amused for Iruka's nerves.

"We're _not_ lovers!"

"No," Kakashi murmured, "Not yet..."

The unspoken 'and probably never' hung heavy between them, heart-wrenching and leaden with regrets.

"Don't I get a farewell kiss?" the Jounin asked, almost teasing, flippant and casual as he had ever been -- but Iruka was not fooled. He could see the fear under the resigned glint of Kakashi's eyes.

For a fleeting second, the Hunter hesitated.

_He's right, _said his mind. _Save yourself._

They locked gaze.

_Prove him wrong,_ said his heart. _Don't leave him._

Iruka made up his mind. Taking Kakashi's face between his gloved hands, the young man leaned forward. Lips met lips. Iruka claimed Kakashi's mouth, hard and frantic and desperate -- trying to express without words everything he dared not tell him.

The depth of his passion gave the furious, bruising kiss an almost painful intensity. Kakashi gave as good as he got, matching every stroke, every lick, every caress. So caught up was he in the delicious task of ravishing Iruka's mouth, that he did not notice the hand sliding from his face to the crook of his neck, loving and stroking and inconspicuously settling on an energy point. The Hunter pressed two fingers against the pale skin, and Kakashi went limp in his arms.

Iruka had decided there was always hope.

The Hunter ripped a large strip of his uniform, and tied the black cloth around Kakashi's head, to protect his nose and mouth from the smoke. Then he shifted Kakashi's weight in his embrace before he heaved him onto his left shoulder with a grunt of effort. He cursed under his breath at the sharp pain flaring up in his chest. He scrambled up to his feet, his fingers gripping the smooth fabric of the Jounin's pants.

When he realized just where his hand was resting, Iruka gave an almost hysterical chuckle.

_Can't believe I'm groping him at a time like this_, he mused darkly. _He would have a field day, I'm sure._

All lecherous thoughts left his mind, however, as part of the ceiling collapsed behind him with a deafening crack. With a rather undignified yelp, he bounded forward as fast his exhausted body could take him. Half-leaping, half-running, he dashed at top speed through the suffocating darkness. A slat gave way and crumbled under his weight. His ankle twisted painfully and he faltered, only narrowly regaining his balance. He dropped down to one knee. Breathless and trembling with chakra exhaustion, Iruka realized Kakashi had been right.

The Jounin _was_ weighing him down.

They would never make it out of the building in time.

_Naruto. Kurenai-san._

It was hopeless. They would _die_.

_Karasu-sensei._

They would both die.

_Kakashi._

With an almost feral growl, Iruka hauled himself back to his feet.

_RUN!_

Something snapped inside his mind, like a string drawn too tight. He let the primal instinct of survival take over. Fear and pain faded to the background, becoming increasingly dim and distant. Rage filled him -- raw, unadulterated fury. Rage at being hopeless, rage at his own acute sense of failure, rage at life, that had taken from him everyone and everything he had ever loved.

He would _not_ fail again.

§§§

Down the hill, armed villagers and ninjas stood watching the blaze, their heads bowed in grim resignation. Their colored uniforms covered in grime and dried blood, two Hunters framed the Hokage. One of them, the red hue of his uniform turning crimson in the sunlight, waved his arms about in obvious agitation. Another, a brown-clad giant, was holding a trashing boy against his chest.

"LET GO!" a young, hoarse voice shrieked, cutting through the heavy silence. "IRUKA-SENSEI!"

"Naruto," the Godaime said in a low voice, without turning to him.

For a split second, she regretted not to have sedated him as she had the Uchiha boy. Then she shook off the thought. Not even a Hunter could have prevented Sasuke from going after his brother, but Naruto deserved as much as anyone -- perhaps more than any of them -- to know Iruka's fate.

The Genin stopped his vain struggling, his balled fist bouncing harmlessly on Kuma's broad, muscled shoulders.

"But Iruka-sensei..." he began. He looked about to cry. Heartbreakingly young. "We _have_ to help!"

"The brat is right," Yamainu interjected heatedly. "Give me two men and I'll bring them back for sure!"

Kuma and Naruto both glanced at the Hokage hopefully, but Tsunade stared stonily at the burning castle.

"No," she said slowly, hating herself. "It's too late."

"_But_!"

"Loath as I am to admit," Washi cut in unexpectedly, "Hokage-sama is right. With Okashira's anti-chakra field in place, it would be murder to send anyone in there." He crossed his arms on his chest, shook his head, then added quietly, "Konoha cannot afford it."

"You'd leave your leader to _die_, Washi?" Yamainu spat, fuming. "You _coward_."

Washi whirled around, quick as a flash. The air crackled perilously between them. Yamainu's hand came to rest on the hilt of Shuurai, his silver-bladed katana.

"Stop it, the two of you!" Kuma growled, low in his throat. "You're making a spectacle of yourselves!"

"They're probably dead already," Tsunade murmured, her defeated tone betraying her sadness.

With a frustrated grunt, the red-haired Hunter kicked a pebble angrily, raising dust. Then he stalked away, throwing his hands down in disgust.

"That's no reason for abandoning them!" Naruto yelled, his eyes turning red. Malicious, powerful chakra swirled around him as nearly unbearable pain fed his fury. Kuma gasped, but did not release his hold on the Genin.

Tsunade turned to face him then, her face very pale.

"You claim you want to become Hokage one day," she said, tonelessly. "_This_ is what being Hokage is about."

The boy stared at her, stunned into speechless despair. The Kyuubi chakra settled down after a few seconds, his pupils returning to their usual crystal blue. His scarred cheeks were streaked with tears. Kuma's huge, slightly trembling hand patted Naruto's tousled blonde hair solemnly as he sobbed into his shoulder.

Naruto was not the only one mourning. Among the crowd, villagers and shinobi alike, the atmosphere was leaden with unspoken grief of varying intensity.

Most of them lamented the loss of the shinobi who had protected their village without fail for the past ten years; but only those who knew the persons behind Kurohyou's and Kakashi's masks understood, with acute clarity, just how much they had lost.

Prostrated on the ground, Gai was bawling like a small child. Kurenai was crying silently into her hand, head bowed, without shame. Next to her, Asuma stood at a loss, caught between his own pain and the almost overwhelming need to comfort the woman he loved.

Then the palace crumbled.

Over the collective gasp of horror, Naruto's wail echoed in every heart.

"Iruka-sensei," he whispered desperately. "Iru-- IRUKA-SENSEI?"

He had yelled the last word in sheer incredulity. Kuma dropped the boy in surprise.

A lone black silhouette staggered down the rocky path. In his arms, he held a body tight against his bandaged chest.

"_Okashira_!" Yamainu and Kuma exclaimed at the same time, before rushing forward to help their wounded leader. That seemed to wrench Washi out of his astonishment. He assessed the situation quickly, his overtrained mind already taking over his obvious shock.

"A medic, _quick_! He's wounded!"

Haggard, Iruka stared at the two Hunters, without seeming to recognize them. It was obviously all the young man could do not to collapse. Then Washi grabbed his shoulder and Iruka's gaze focused on him. His face was frighteningly pale under the soot and crusted blood.

"Kakashi," he mumbled, too exhausted to be thinking clearly. He was beyond caring. "_Kakashi_. Please."

The moment the Jounin was taken from him, the Hunter felt a wave of dizziness hit him hard. He felt Kuma's strong hands on his back, steadying him. Then he noticed the crowd, heard the whispers. The look on their faces.

They _knew_.

They _all_ knew.

_Free_, came the sudden, unbidden thought. _I am free._

"It's over," he whispered. Tears ran on his smoke-darkened cheeks, but he did not feel them. "Everything is over."

Then the world went black, and Iruka knew no more.

* * *

End. 

§§§

§§

§

Just kidding! I will post the epilogue soon. Feeback welcome!


	11. Epilogue: Forgiving

**The Silent Blade: Hunter**

**Author:** Carcinya (Isolde1 on fanfiction(dot)net)  
**Author E-mail:** carcinya(at)aol(dot)com  
**Category:** Action/Adventure/Romance  
**Keywords:** Naruto Hunter-nin Iruka Kakashi  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Possible up to episode 145  
**Summary:** The way of the ninja is shrouded in shadows and mysteries. But some secrets are not meant to be unveiled, as Kakashi painfully discovers, when he pries into something he probably should not have. (Book 1, KakaIru)  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on situations and characters created and owned by Masashi Kishimoto, various publishers including but not limited to TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright infringement intended.

Now, now, people. If Naruto was mine, do you really think I'd be sitting at my computer, sipping bad coffee, and writing bad fanfiction? Honestly.

**Author's notes: **I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistake there might be in this story. I am French, and still only learning the beautiful language that is English. Any comments are welcome, but obviously flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Or flamers. Yummy.

Cookies to the readers who can spot the special cameo! This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Nezuko-neesan.

* * *

Glossary

_Taka_: Hawk.  
_Hakuchuu:_ Swan.

**Epilogue: Forgiving**

_**Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.**_

_**-- James Baldwin**_

§§§

_Later_

Iruka shivered. Even in early May, the cotton hospital gown and stolen sweatpants did little to ward off the cool air of daybreak. He did not have enough chakra left in his body to teleport, or even jump from rooftop to rooftop. Instead, he trudged wearily down the narrow cobbled streets of Konoha, every step a test of will. Kiba, rolled in a scarf and strapped tightly to his back, slapped painfully against his bandaged chest when he suddenly faltered and lost his footing. He had to stop for long minutes, trying to catch his breath, before he felt steady enough to go on. Never did it occur to him to turn back.

As he made his way to the Hokage's temporary headquarters -- he had tricked a nurse into revealing that particular piece of information -- Iruka noticed the usually bustling streets of the Maple District were mercifully deserted, the doors barred, the windows barricaded. Small wonder, he reasoned, since the village had been under attack but a few hours -- days? -- before.

Iruka thanked his lucky stars all the same. He did not think he could have faced anyone, not in his state, not after...

The young man swallowed the bile he felt rising in his throat. He had seen nobody but nurses and the occasional medic-nin since he had woken up, and they had all, infuriatingly, avoided his questions and told him to rest.

The extent of his disgrace was not hard to guess.

Iruka allowed himself a small, wan smile. Soon, it would be over, one way or another. _Then_ he would rest.

Forever.

As he neared the building Tsunade had elected as temporary HQ, Iruka did not bother to screen his chakra -- there was almost nothing left to hide, at any rate, given his abiding, bone-deep fatigue.

Scrambling up the stairs proved more difficult, and a great deal more painful, than he had anticipated. All his muscles and joints ached with chakra exhaustion, and the wound on his torso throbbed in unison. The medic-nins had not been able to heal it completely, as jutsu medicine required energy from both the healer and the patient, and, if Nenani-sama was to be believed, his chakra levels when he had collapsed had been frighteningly low.

After what seemed like excruciatingly long hours, the Hunter climbed the last step -- for a moment, Iruka wondered, peevishly, whether Tsunade had chosen the top floor just to spite him. Already he could feel powerful auras behind the closed door -- many Jounins, he surmised, three Hunters and the Hokage.

His hand on the door latch, he hesitated. Even though Iruka knew he needed a public for what he was about to do, that did not mean he had to like it.

And he certainly did _not_. But he had shamed the whole village, and the Hokage most of all, and there was only one way of atoning for his mistakes. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

§

_Meanwhile_

Tsunade surveyed the assembly with half-closed amber eyes, and stifled a jaw cracking yawn. She had summoned all the Jounins and remaining Hunters. Along with her personal advisors, they had been trying, for hours on end, to assess the extent of the damage inflicted on their village.

Human losses had been kept to a minimum, thanks to Kurohyou's apt planning, but Itachi's chakra bombs had left chaos and destruction in their wake. The Palace had been burned to the ground; none of the surviving workers had managed to escape the blaze. Hours later, when Iruka's anti-chakra field -- which, Tsunade had to admit, was an impressive piece of work -- had dissipated, there had been nothing left but ashes and charred remains.

Five ANBU and two Chuunin were missing, and the death of Hinata weighted on everyone's mind. A funeral would be held in the coming days, when the situation went back to normal -- or as normal as it could be.

The medic-nins of Konoha, led by Nenani and Tsunade themselves, had been been working days and nights to heal the wounded and the suffering. Most would recover, like Iruka and Kakashi, and would simply sport new scars; but other stigmata of the carnage would never disappear. Some had lost an eye or a limb; others, burned to third degree by the five minor chakra mines the enemy had scattered throughout the village, would not live out the night; one, a newly promoted Jounin, would never walk again.

On the brighter side, there had been no civilian death to report, and not a single child had been harmed.

A red-eyed Jounin -- Kurenai, she thought, Genjutsu specialist, ANBU Squad leader, Iruka's friend -- took a step forward. Her dark hair in disarray, her clothes rumpled, she looked like something the cat had brought in, she estimated. They all did. Tsunade suspected she herself must have looked a bit weary. In a sexy, eye-catching, way of course.

"The fires in the Cypress and Willow Districts have been put out," the woman announced, in a tired, but clear voice. "The villagers have started filing out indemnification forms, even though we told them it was useless."

Tsunade groaned. Konoha had literally walked through the fire, and, on a human level at least, escaped mostly unscathed. Administratively, however, the attack had been a complete disaster. All the paperwork accumulated since Konoha's foundation had vanished in clouds of dark smoke. More jutsu scrolls and books than she cared to think, including the Forbidden Scrolls, had been lost forever. They would have to start again from scratch.

It suddenly occurred to her that Kurenai was giving her a quizzical look.

"Good work, Jounin," Tsunade said shortly, resisting the urge to sigh. The weeks to come would undoubtedly prove _fascinating_.

All of a sudden, she felt Kuma tense next to her. The bearish Hunter stiffened with a grunt of surprise. Across the room, Washi looked up from the report he had been thumbing through, his masked face focusing automatically on the doorway. Yamainu sprang to his feet and let out a curse.

The large wooden door opened slowly to reveal one Umino Iruka.

The young man looked exhausted. His dark messy hair fell in limp strands all over his sallow face.

There was a collective gasp of surprise. Some Jounins stared openly, others turned to the Hokage in askance -- wondering, no doubt, if the Hunter had managed to catch her unaware as well.

Kurenai made a small, concerned sound and rushed forward to help. She froze at Tsunade's sharp glance, and held her place, though if her scowl was any indication, she was far from pleased.

Nobody else had moved. No one dared offer assistance to the proud Hunter .

The Chuunin kept his eyes fixated on the Hokage as he took an unsteady step toward her, then another. The crowd parted automatically as he hobbled across the room.

Tsunade was not annoyed. No, she was beyond furious. As he drew level with her, she glowered at him meaningly.

"Iruka!" she barked. "You should _not_ be here."

It should not have been possible for anyone to pale further, but then the young man _did_ have quite a history of rule-breaking. When Iruka dropped to his knees in a humiliated kow-tow, Tsunade understood in a flash that she had made a tactical mistake.

Bowing his head, Iruka reached behind him to unstrap Kiba from his back. Then he carefully balanced the weapon on his upturned palms, and held it up in silence.

"Hokage-sama," he began, his voice low and atrociously calm. "This shinobi has failed you and this village in every regard. Lives have been lost, building destroyed, and secrets revealed. The Hunters have been disgraced. This shinobi's shame knows no bounds. Please allow your humble servant to take his unworthy life, and let his blood wash away the dishonor."

The ancient ritual words flowed out of his mouth, and he meant them with every fibre of his body, with every breath he took, with what little energy he had left. Few ninjas knew of the Old Code, and even fewer followed it, but the Hunters were shinobi of a different kind, a fading memory of a time long past, when honor mattered to warriors more than life, before greed supplanted duty, and interest replaced ideals.

It was not for Hunters to feel, to love, or to mourn. Hunters were weapons. They served their people with utmost devotion from the instant they took up their masks to the moment they fell in defence of their village, and gave their last breath.

That knowledge made Iruka's failure all the more unbearable to the young man.

He closed his eyes, and waited. The silence in the room was deafening. Iruka could hear his own heart beating steadily in his chest, and suddenly it occurred to him it might be one of the last times. His pulse sped up at that, and he could not help the violent shiver that coursed through his body. He squashed the tiny flicker of fearful regret that danced in his heart with impatient self-reprieve.

_You've brought this upon yourself_, he berated himself sternly. _Now face the consequences_.

His knees and arms were screaming in protest at remaining immobile for so long, but Iruka did not change his posture. He wished the Hokage would speak up at last, accept his request or scorn it. In that last case, Iruka would have to find another way to end his life, and his honorless spirit would never find peace.

The thought made him want to throw up.

He did not quite dare look up, but his eyelids fluttered open of their own volition, and he found himself staring at the artfully painted toenails of the powerful Fifth Hokage.

At last she shifted on the balls of her feet, and Iruka felt the familiar, comforting weight of Kiba removed from his hands. He let out a sigh of bone-weary relief. His gratitude was short-lived, however, as the clatter of a scabbard hitting the marble ground made him cringe. The involuntary motion had him raise his eyes and meet the Hokage's gaze. A maelstrom of emotions crossed Tsunade's usually impassive face -- Iruka read anger, shame, outrage, and a few others he could not name.

The young man looked away uneasily, his throat unbearably tight, painfully aware he was the direct cause of her ire.

She had all the reasons in the world to despise him, and none to grant him the mercy of an honorable death. Despair washed over him for a moment, but when hot tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, he bit them back savagely. Disgraced or not, he was still a Hunter, and it would not do to shame the Hokage further in front of witnesses.

He forced his voice to be calm and steady when he next spoke up.

"I understand, Hokage-sama."

Tsunade's answer was immediate, her tone cold and clipped.

"No, you don't."

He kept his head bowed, refusing to meet her eye, not wanting to see the frosty scorn that he knew _had_ to be there.

"Up," the Hokage said suddenly. Then she added, more softly, "Do you think you can you get up?"

The Hunter nodded uncertainly, taken aback by the sudden, unexpected gentleness of her voice. He scrambled up stiffly, all of his usual grace gone. There he stood facing the most powerful ninja of the Leaf, on wobbly legs, feeling faint and light-headed. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep his balance. For a moment, he wondered whether he was going to pass out. Mercifully, he did not.

"Iruka."

He straightened, bracing himself. Then he looked up.

Tsunade searched his face for a long second. What she found, Iruka could not tell. He swallowed audibly.

"Thank you," she said, in her direct, brisk way. She bowed, slowly, deeply.

Speechless, the young man watched in utter bewilderment as one after the other, the Jounins kneeled behind the Hokage. Then she drew herself up. A light smile hovered on her sensuous lips. The Jounins remained immobile.

"You have served this village well, Hunter," she announced, her voice loud and clear. "Will you continue to serve?"

"I am not a Hunter anymore," Iruka murmured, pained. "I disgraced the very name."

Tsunade held up a placating hand.

"If disgrace there has been, it was none of your doing. You have my gratitude, and that of the village. But let me finish, brat. Will you continue to serve?"

Iruka's gaze was troubled, his face set into a frown, but he bowed again.

"Anything you demand of me, Hokage-sama."

"I want you to do what you do best, Iruka," she said at last.

The young man looked resigned.

"To kill?"

Tsunade smiled at him then, a slow, rich smile that warmed her steely amber eyes. Iruka released a breath he had not realized he had been holding.

"No," she said simply. "To teach."

To say Iruka was surprised would have been the understatement of the century. He was completely speechless.

"You understand, however, that I cannot allow your potential to go to waste at the Academy," Tsunade went on, briskly. "As a special Jounin, your Kenjutsu skills and teaching abilities will be put to good use."

The former Hunter stared at her in wide-eyed astonishment.

"A Jounin? Me? But..."

With a careless wave of her hand, Tsunade dismissed his objections.

"Yes, well, you cannot stay a Chuunin all your life, now, can you?" she said, before she added, "And don't even think of having your tattoo removed. You will keep it as a token of your devotion to the village. It will do you good to get some recognition, for once."

Iruka nodded, too stunned to protest. He had come in fully expecting to be dead before dusk, and here the Hokage was offering him a brand new life, in restored honor. It was overwhelming.

"I will take the Jounin examination as you command, Hokage-sama," he began, earnestly. "But I will need two senior Jounins to nominate me."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "You're not taking it."

Iruka raised a curious eyebrow.

"I am not?" he repeated, clearly surprised.

"Of course not. Do you realize the ruckus it would cause? We'd have to start selling tickets -- _wait_, maybe that's not _such_ a bad idea after all..."

The young man let out a light sigh, amused in spite of himself. Those who thought retirement was restful had probably never met Tsunade.

§§§

_9 months later_

On a bright cold day of February, a young man crossed a clearing, to the memorial stone dedicated to the fallen Hunters. The stark winter light cast a gleaming coat over the pine trees. Crisp fresh snow crunched under his feet.

On impulse, Iruka put his head back. The hood of his woollen cloak slid off easily. A tan hand reached up to tuck stray locks behind his ears. The wind played in his unruly dark hair -- he had taken to letting it down these days, because Kakashi liked it this way. He still dressed in black, his outfit practical and simple, though he could not wear the Hunter's garb anymore.

So much had changed.

In the course of a few months, Iruka's life -- or rather, _lives_ -- had taken an unexpected turn, for better or for worse.

Washi had stepped up as leader of the Hunters after him, as Iruka had planned. What the former Hunter had not expected, however, was the tentative friendship that had slowly grown between them. And it was not the only bond Iruka had formed over the past year.

When Itachi had threatened the village, Iruka had not paused to take Sasuke's feelings into account -- he had simply done what he had to in order to insure Konoha's safety no matter the cost -- even if it meant hurting the boy irremediably.

At first, it had seemed the Genin had simply transferred his hatred of his brother onto Iruka. It had stung, more than the young man had cared to admit, to feel such venomous loathing directed at him. He would have been content to simply grin and bear it -- he _had_ taken away Sasuke's revenge, after all -- but Tsunade had decided to step in.

To Iruka's astonishment, she had asked him to become the last Uchiha's teacher. However skilled he night be in the traditional ninja skills, she had reasoned, he was still direly lacking in more physical martial arts, and who better than a retired Hunter to train him?

Iruka had hesitated for weeks, tossing and turning in bed all night long, as Kakashi had grumpily informed everyone who had cared to listen. The former Hunter had not been the only one sporting bags under his eyes these days.

Tsunade, uncharacteristically, had not pressured him. Though nobody had ever blamed him, Iruka's latest apprentice had turned out to be a murdering traitor -- such things tended to encourage wariness.

He had accepted, and he did not regret it.

It had taken him three endless months, but eventually the boy had let go of his anger and accepted him as his teacher rather than as his enemy. In time, hate had turned to contempt, then to grudging respect -- Iruka scarcely allowed himself to hope they could ever become friends.

Sasuke had turned out to be an eager, clever, talented student; and, if at first the lack of vengeful drive that had sustained him for so long had deadened his spirit, a new-found, healthier thirst for knowledge had eventually come to replace it -- under Iruka's watchful tutelage.

In training the sullen boy, Iruka had found a new purpose. Sharing his knowledge, his experience and his love of the village, he had at first merely hoped to be part of Sasuke's slow recovery. Only when he had found himself sleeping through the night had Iruka realized they had been healing each other all along.

Team Seven -- Sakura trained by Tsunade, Naruto by Jiraiya -- had taken and passed their Chuunin exams, along with a few of their comrades. As for the Hunters, Washi and Kuma's apprentices had received their names and masks five days ago -- Hakuchuu, the white Swan, and Tora, the Tiger.

All in all, it had been a fruitful year.

And then, there was Kakashi.

Kakashi, who upon his waking up, had run barefoot all the way to the Hokage's headquarters, glared at Tsunade, teleported them both back to the hospital, and promptly collapsed; who had spoon-fed Iruka, against his vehement protests, when a fever of exhaustion had left him too weak to move, and who liked to brush Iruka's hair until it became almost as soft and brilliant as his mother's dark tresses.

Kakashi, who had carried him in his arms, flaying and trashing and cursing, across the threshold of the Jounin lounge, to their friends' endless amusement; who had not even blinked at Iruka's culinary catastrophe on their first dinner at home, and who had the good grace never to comment on his frightening lack of cooking sense.

Kakashi, who snored and hogged the covers, stole his shirts and used his toothbrush; who hid erotica in Iruka's favorite books on a weekly basis; and who had atrocious taste in music and literally no sense of punctuality.

Kakashi, who had been through hell and back again, and yet shown him there was more to life than duty and blood and pain; who had taken in stride Iruka's obsession of control, his explosive temper and even the abiding, soul-shaking terror of abandonment that woke him up at night; who held him through the panic attacks as if he had done it all his life, and never once questioned Iruka on the nightmares that left him quaking and repeating the same words over and over in a strange, guttural language.

Kakashi, who had made love to him with a gentleness the Hunter had not known could exist, and pretended not to notice Iruka's reddened eyes and damp cheeks; who whispered in his ear, almost every night, three words that meant nothing, and everything -- and never expected Iruka to say anything in return.

Kakashi, battle-scarred, twisted, manipulative bastard; incredible, mischievous, sensual, fascinating genius.

_Kakashi_.

Iruka came to a halt in front of the memorial, gleaming into the sunlight, and smiled wistfully.

He closed his eyes briefly, his fingers tightening on the small bundle of cloth he held against his chest, under the heavy black coat. Then he kneeled in a fluid motion, bowed low in front of the memorial stone, his brow nearly touching the snow.

"Honored Hunters of Konoha," he murmured. "Brothers, sisters -- _sensei_ -- please forgive my weakness."

There were things not even time could erase, and Iruka's guilt would follow him into the grave.

Ever since that fateful day, almost a year ago, Iruka had felt the need to come there alone, to pray. But he was not a Hunter anymore, and part of him wondered if he still had the right to.

He bowed again, sharply, before he drew his left land out of his woollen coat. He hesitated, then he opened it and found himself staring at a pristine white mask. He swallowed, feeling strangely nervous. Then, in a single, precise motion, he set the mask against the memorial. It looked straight back at him, but Iruka found he did not hate the sight of it anymore.

"Kurohyou is dead," he said, getting back up in a graceful movement. "Long live Iruka."

A light screeching sound made him look up and meet the unreadable gaze of a raven, perched on the stone. Its dark eyes glinted. Then it took off in a rustle of wings.

He felt his heart clench. What would Karasu-sensei think of him? Or his parents?

He had lost his position for the love of a man, yet could not find it in himself to regret his choice. He could not help relishing his new-found freedom, and felt incredibly selfish because of it. Had he not sworn to always protect Konoha?

"So," said a voice behind him, jolting him back to reality, "Happy? A Jounin's life -- now _that_ must feel like retirement to you."

Iruka did not bother turning around. He stared off in the distance, a distressed frown creasing his forehead.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Somehow, I feel like..." He trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Like you're deserting," Hime finished for him.

Iruka did not answer, but his silence was eloquent.

The cougar snorted.

"Nonsense," she said, dismissively. "You never learn, do you, Iruka?"

He turned to her, tilting his head to the side, warily.

"The purpose of life is not death," she explained, more patiently than was usual for her. "Though we all come to that eventually. The purpose of life is making the better of the time that's been given to you."

The young man sighed at his friend's cryptic words. "Your point being?"

She gave him a pointed look.

"I think it's high time you got a life."

Iruka laughed.

"Maybe you're right," he said, unaccountable warmth filling his chest.

They walked back to the village in companionable silence, lost in the memories of many years past. A slow, wistful smile danced on Iruka's lips.

Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for him yet.

* * *

-- **End** --

Watch out for the coming sequel -- "The Silent Blade: Renegade".


End file.
